Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [99]
But this time the process hadn’t been nearly so overwhelming to watch. All the Doctor had felt was that his mind was going slightly out of focus, and as the image of Dame Hilda started to ripple he was aware that it was all happening in his brain, rather than a few yards in front of him.
But just when he expected the change (and he was determined not to miss the moment), the mirage effect faded away.
Hilda dropped her head. She was as out of breath as if she’d just run a champion’s one hundred metres. She swayed, as if she were about to pass out, and gratefully accepted the Doctor’s help as he guided her back to her chair.
‘It’s no good,’ she said at last. ‘I couldn’t quite reach. It was just beyond my grasp - a few inches from my fingertips.’
This was a disaster! It was their only hope of escape.
She shook her head. ‘I know quite well that this old body has no substance. I know that I’m not really an old woman.
But knowing it with my mind - Hilda’s mind - just isn’t enough. It has to be experiential. And after the last few days... Do you realise that if I lost my concentration, the village and the temple would disappear? I just haven’t enough Skang energy left.’
The Doctor, who had squatted next to her, holding her hand, stood up and walked to the gap in the window they’d managed to make so far. He gazed down into the empty amphitheatre.
They weren’t going to get out.
They were going to have a view from the royal box of the last act of this comedy - and the consequence would be tragic: the wiping out of everybody on Stella Island, if not the whole human race.
CHAPTER THIRTY
This was turning out to be one of the best operations he’d been involved in since he joined UNIT, thought the Brigadier.
He hadn’t taken enough time off in the past. Whenever he went on leave there always seemed to be some family duty to be taken care of. Things were going to change in the future!
His ruminations were interrupted by a shout behind him.
Ah, Sarah! To be honest, he hadn’t even noticed that she’d disappeared. But he was glad to see her come back even if she wasn’t a Betty Grable. Pretty enough, though, and the only female on board after all!
‘Sarah! Where’ve you been?’ he cried. We’re going to have a party! Tell you what, UNIT can buy us all a bottle of fizz. No, a case! I’ll fiddle it on my expenses.’
There was a general cheer from the others on the bridge, even Bert Rogers the signalman, and the two lookouts.
But Sarah wasn’t even listening. ‘Look! Look!’ she shouted, pointing ahead. ‘We’re going to crash!’
What the devil was she talking about? He could see the seafront quite clearly now, with its row of shops and bars, but it was still a good six or seven hundred yards away.
Pete Andrews was actually laughing. Was it meant as a joke?
Evidently not. His laughter stopped and he watched open-mouthed as Sarah jumped forward and grabbed the brass handles of the engine-room telegraph, pulling them back to full astern.
This was beyond any sort of joke.
After an astonished moment, the telegraph answered. But by then Sarah had turned and launched herself at the Cox’n, who was so taken by surprise that he lost his balance and fell onto the deck.
But before she could touch the helm, Pete Andrews had leapt forward and grabbed her round the waist, lifted her bodily and swung her away from the wheel. She was frantic.
She was screaming. She was kicking and beating at Andrews with her fists.
He was still laughing.
‘God Almighty!’
What? What now? The Brigadier swung round. Bob Simkins had appeared in the doorway that led to the bowels of the ship.
The Cox’n was getting to his feet. Diving forward, Bob shouldered him out of the way, grabbed the wheel and spun it to starboard as far as it would go.
The ship had hardly slowed at all, and as it answered to the helm it listed to port, and the Cox’n, who had staggered back against Pete Andrews and his hysterical burden, fell over again.
The Commanding Officer