Doctor Who_ Delta and the Bannermen - Malcolm Kohll [9]
The Doctor ran a few computations through his mind then started pushing buttons in a prescribed sequence.
When the last switch was thrown, the TARDIS started to shudder and emitted a loud droning hum. A powerful energy beam shot out from the TARDIS and locked onto the tumbling bus.
After a few moments the wild gyrations gave way to a more controlled yawing, and slowly the bus righted itself.
There existed in South Wales a quiet moorland valley with a single narrow track road running through it. The road stopped at a somewhat dismal compound of low, clapboard bungalows. Over the gate in green wrought-iron was the legend ‘SHANGRI-LA.’ It was one of the least-famous holiday camps in the country, but those who knew it liked it for its unspoilt location and quiet walks, and above all, its quiet restfulness. Its peaceful tranquillity was shattered, however, when suddenly, out of a clear blue sky, a tour bus thumped onto the road outside the camp gates, rocking on its springs and releasing a shower of pyrotechnics from under its hood.
What was even more astonishing was five seconds later a blue police phone box materialized out of thin air beside the bus. The Doctor emerged from the TARDIS and crossed to the damaged cruiser.
Murray staggered out of the bus, still shaken. ‘Th-thanks, Doctor. We ran into a piece of space junk. What did you do?’
The Doctor cast a critical eye over the bus which had the small satellite still embedded in its front grille. ‘I simply applied the TARDIS vortex drive to generate an anti-gravity spiral strong enough to halt your descent.’
Murray sighed with relief. ‘They sure could use a guy like you at Head Office,’ he said. He looked around, his eyes lighting on the grey buildings nearby. ‘Hey!’ cried Murray, ‘This doesn’t look like Disneyland!’
‘It seems as if that satellite jammed your navigation pod.
As near as I can tell we’re somewhere in Wales,’ said the Doctor.
Murray squinted at the holiday camp. ‘Well, we’re going to have to do something with all these people until we get the bus ship-shape.’ The Doctor followed his gaze. ‘Maybe that series of primitive dwellings could be used as some sort of way-station,’ he said.
Mel joined them. ‘It’s a holiday camp,’ she said.
‘Perfect!’ cried the Doctor, ‘Just what we were looking for.’
‘But Doctor,’ said Mel doubtfully, ‘it looks... I don’t know... a bit grim somehow...’
The Doctor looked sternly at Mel. ‘You shouldn’t go by appearances, Mel. Often the most interesting people stay at these places. This is the REAL 50s, don’t forget.’
Something was happening. A balding man in a florid jacket was approaching from the camp. He was the camp’s commander who gloried in the name of Burton Burton.
He was pleased to see them all. ‘We expected you hours ago. Trouble with the old bus, eh? It happens all the time.
Still, it’s not far to the camp,’ he said.
Murray was not backward in coming forward. ‘Erm...
Do you mind if we rest at the camp until the bus is fixed?’
he asked brightly.
‘Mind?’ said Burton looking puzzled, ‘My dear chap, that’s what we’re here for!’
By now everyone was off the bus and milling around, thankful to have their feet firmly on solid ground once more. Burton clapped his hands for silence. ‘Welcome campers! I am your camp leader. During your stay at Shangri-La I will take care of your every need. My name is Burton, Burton Burton, and remember campers if you need anything, just ask.’ Burton chivied the tourists into a neat line, two abreast. Bewildered by the proceedings, they obediently fell into line without complaint. ‘That’s the spirit. Right, follow me!’ cried Burton.
And with that he turned and started marching back towards the camp. The passengers looked to Murray for guidance. ‘Erm, that’s right folks. You follow... uh...
Burton and he’ll look after you until our cruiser is ready to roll.’
The passengers, grumbling amongst themselves, set off after Burton. Mel and