Doctor Trek - Meeting The Grade (1)
Ian Kidd

 

DOCTOR TREK


THE EARLY YEARS





MEETING THE GRADE


BY


IAN KIDD





PROLOGUE





Earth.

England.

Rotherham.

Wickersley.

1991.

July the 16th.

Tuesday.

Sammy Davis Jnr, not a famous black man but an irascible, curly-haired fifteen

year old orphan, was walking along the path toward Wickersley Comprehensive

School with his two friends, Anthony and Jake. The three were headed for fun

in Wick Comp's annual end-of-year "Activity Week", but Sammy seemed much

more interested in telling the story of the episode of the episode of "Neighbours"

that had aired the night before on BBC1. "And there's this girl in it," he continued,

oblivious to the fact his story was boring the hell out of his two companions, "with

long dark hair, called Cody Willis, and she's just gorgeous. I mean, real drop

dead Fred. And that Todd kid, he were kissing her and you saw his tongue go

right - ooh, the lucky bastard," Sammy whistled, "I really wished I could change

places with him, I really did. I mean, she was gorgeous..." They turned the

corner into the school and walked down the path, Sammy's rambling continuing

unabated. "I tell you, I wanted to kiss her all over her - " he stopped, looking

around. "What the hell is THAT?"

 His question was directed at a strange, small blue tent that looked like a

miniature version of one of those old-style police public telephone boxes.

 "It's a TARDIS tent," Anthony commented.

 "A WHAT?!" Sammy exclaimed.

 "You know - the TARDIS, from "Doctor Who"?" Jake explained. "The old kids

show about the old dude who travels through time in a big version of that thing?"

 "Oh, SF," Sammy groaned disparagingly. "I might have known. But why is

there a tent version of it here?"

 "It must be the Sci-Fi Club. They make spoof "Doctor Who" movies called

"Doctor Trek" here on Activity Week. Have done for years," Anthony told

him.

 "What a bunch of geeky tossers," Sammy shook his head.

 "Why not steal it?" Anthony suggested.

 "What?"

 "It's one of their props, obviously. Steal it, really screw up their movie."

 "Why not?" Sammy moved to the TARDIS tent. He touched it, but drew his

hand back quickly at an electric shock. "It's alive!" He heard talking coming

from within. "Must be one of the geeks," Sammy climbed in. "Hey losers -

what THE?!"

 With a VWORP! VWORP! noise, the TARDIS tent, in reality a highly

sophisticated teleport cubicle from the Starship TARDISPRISE, vanished

before the astonished Anthony and Jake's eyes.

 Sammy's life had just changed - forever...





CHAPTER ONE





Monday February 25, 1985.

London.

The BBC Television Centre.

Michael Grade, Controller of BBC1, strolled down the corridors, proudly

surveying HIS corporation, until he came to a door marked "Jonathan Powell,

Head of BBC Drama", and entered without knocking.

 Jonathan Powell quickly jumped off the table where he had pinned down

his secretary. "That'll be all, Chambers."

 "Thank you, Mr Powell." Flushed, and wearing a silly smile, Raymond quickly

left.

 Jonathan sat himself down and smiled at Michael. "Well, what can I do for you,

Mr Grade? The usual? Blow-job?"

 "Not this time, Jonny," Michael smiled. "I just wondered if you had any ratings

for me."

 "Is that all?" Powell looked most disappointed. "Yes, I've got two new ratings

from BARB. One for "Antiques Roadshow" and two for "Doctor Who"."

 "Mm, let me take a look," Michael pored over the papers. "Mm, "Antiques

Roadshow" got 1.1 million last week - that's marvellous. Ooh, "Doctor Who"

- 8 million for it's opener, but only 7 million for Part 2. That's not encouraging.

It must be too violent for viewers to stomach."

 "But there's always a drop between the first episode of a new series and

Part 2," Powell objected. "That's the way it goes."

 "You hate the show, don't you?" Grade smiled.

 Powell looked up, nodding. "Yes. It's science-fiction. It's the worst kind of scum."

 Michael smiled evilly. "Then we axe it."





 Aboard the Starship TARDISPRISE, Captain Who looked up and smiled

as Sammy came into the console room. The teenager's arrival had caused

consternation amongst the crew, especially when Who had offered him a

place onboard. "Like your room?"

 Sammy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's cool."

 Frobisher, in lamp form on the console desk, lifted his bulb. "I thought I was

the hippy round here."

 "Any regrets?" Who asked Sammy, completely ignoring Frobisher.

 Sammy shook his head. "No. It was the right thing for me to do. Only thing I'm

slightly disappointed about is now I'll never get to see Cody Willis in

"Neighbours"."

 Who smiled benignly. "Well, we'll see what we can do. I'm sure one of the

crew had a complete collection of it. Didditwobble, was that you?"

 The android looked up, unblinking. "No, I've got "Dal - las."

 "Oh," Who nodded.

 "Same crap," Frobisher commented.

 "Well, never mind, Sammy," Who smiled. "I'm sure we'll sort something out."

 "Thanks," Sammy smiled and disappeared out of the door.

 "Fancy having a crush on a fictional character," Frobisher mocked. "What a

jerk."

 Who leant in on him. "Frobisher, I do not understand this antagonism between

you and Sammy. He's one of us now - so try and get along, okay?"

 Frobisher turned his light bulb on, flashing on right in Who's face, sending

him crashing back, blinded. "Certainly," Frobisher sniggered.

 Who picked himself up off the floor, waving an admonishing figure at the

unconcerned lamp. "Now listen - "

 "Cap - a - ten!" Didditwobble interrupted. "Sh - ood we not be go - ing to our

next des - tin - a - shon?"

 "Yes, quite," Who frowned, considering. "A nice trip to the future, perhaps, to

show young Sammy - "

 "I'm afraid not, Captain," Mr Wok bustled over to the console. "I've just received

an urgent message from Admiral Borusa."

 "Oh?" Who perked up, interested. "What's happened?"

 "Some major disruptions on the time-line, apparently," Wok told him. "Someone's

been illegally using time machines. We have to track them down, stop them, and

bring them to justice."

 "Oh, wonderful," Who complained, "now we're intergalactic wild geese chasers.

To what time were these travellers going?"

 "Not far away from where we are now," Wok reported. "London, February 1985..."





 Not far away from the BBC Television Centre, in the south west of London,

in a small terraced cottage, on the sofa, watching this brand new trashy soap

opera "Neighbours" and trying to stop himself falling into a coma, was an

actor named Colin. Colin eventually gave up on this Oz trash and switched it

off. "It'd surprise me if it lasted six weeks," he chuckled. "Now then, what time

is it? 1:45? I had lunch 12:30. My God, that was over an hour ago! I need

some food quick before I starve to death!" Panicking now, Colin rushed quickly

into the kitchen and helped himself to twenty five chocolate biscuits. After

gorging them, he decided he felt a little better. "Now, I'll have a little something

to wash it down," he thought, and opened the fridge to reveal forty chocolate

milkshake cartons. "Hell," he cursed, "who pinched the other one? I don't

remember drinking sixty last night. Fifty nine maybe..." Puzzled, Colin stuck

his head in the fridge, searching for his milkshake. A whoosh of air behind

alerted him and he turned to be surprised by the fact there were now nine

teenagers with large guns standing in his kitchen.

 Colin dropped his milkshake. "Who are you?" he gasped.

 "We're the Sci-Fi Club," the blonde one, obviously the leader, stepped forward.

"We're here to talk to you about the future."

 Oh God, someone beam me up, Colin thought, they're nutters. "What future?"

he ventured quietly.

 "Your future," the blonde one told him, "and the future of "Doctor Who"."

 I knew I should have gone into "Eastenders" instead, Colin thought.






 Sammy was in the TARDISPRISE's video library, searching through the

collection for episodes of "Neighbours". So far, the only thing he'd found even

resembling a soap opera was "The Brothers", with that dreadful actor Colin

Baker.

 Captain Who came in. "Found it yet, Sammy?"

 Sammy looked back and grinned. "No, not yet. I've found some "Doctor Who"'s,

though. They should be a good laugh, anyway."

 Who frowned. "Yes, very good. Anyway, Sammy, I'm not here to talk to you

about your television habits - "

 "It's obvious you're not my social worker, then," Sammy quipped.

 "I think you'll fit in here very well," Who told him. "Anyway. we'll be needing

your help shortly. We're going back to the past."

 "Really?" Sammy turned. "When?"

 "1985," Who informed him.

 "1985?" Sammy moaned. "That's not the past. I was ten. That's yesterday."

 "We're out to get some illegal time travellers," Who continued. "The problem

is we have to look for someone acting oddly and - "

 "You wouldn't know who was acting oddly and who was acting normal," Sammy

finished.

 "Exactly," Who replied. "You know the place, you know the culture. It's your

time, your home. While the time travellers may be trying to fit in, their behaviour

might still seem strange to you."

 "Okay, I'll go," Sammy agreed. "How long?"

 "Fifteen minutes, max," Who began to walk away.

 "I'll be there," Sammy promised, "just don't call me Max."

 Who stopped at the doorway. "Oh and Sammy, Frobisher will be going too.

Could you try and get along with him?"

 "I'll certainly try," Sammy told him.

 "Good," Who smiled.

 "But if he makes fun of my name once more," Sammy snarled, "I'll connect

him to the mains."





 This was the climax of his act. The bit that put the audience into a real tizz.

Would he really put it down his trousers? Would it bite off his genitalia? And

what psychological suffering was this inflicting on the ferret?

 With a gasp from the audience, "The Incredible Human Bomb" shoved the

rodent down his trousers. He wasn't worried, for three reasons:

1) He'd done this act hundreds of times before and he still had both his

testicles,

2) The ferret had been trained to perfection, and

3) There was so much chloroform in his underpants the ferret would drop off

the moment he got in there.

 All this of course would, if they knew it, confuse the audience further. If the

ferret was asleep and harmless, how did he get those bizarre movements in

his trousers? Ah well, that was his secret.

 A whoosh of air made him look up as two people appeared from nowhere

and dragged him off into the back, to the boo's of the audience.

 "What do you think you're doing?" the little Scotsman inquired.

 "Are you Sylvester McCoy?" the large, thuggish punk with pink hair addressed

him.

 "What is this, "This Is Your Life"?" the bomb questioned.

 "Are you Sylvester McCoy?" the thug demanded threateningly.

 "Yes - what, do you want my autograph?" Sylvester smiled.

 "No," the teenager in the business suit stepped forward. "We're here to save

you."

 Sylvester shook his head in horror. "Oh no - you're not Jehoves Witnesses,

are you?"

 "We're here to help you stop evil saboteurs ruining your acting career," the

businessman told him.

 "I haven't got an acting career," Sylvester told him. "I don't want an acting

career. All I want to do is shove ferrets down my trousers, make people laugh

and get chased by ludicrous rubber zombies and silly idiots dressed up as

"Puss In Boots"."

 The businessman smiled. "That's what we're here for."





CHAPTER TWO





London. 5pm. Rush hour. The road was cramped with people sick of life

and trying to get home to take loads of pills and/or jump off the roof.

Consequently, few people paid much attention when, with a peculiar VWORP!

VWORP! noise, the teleport cubicle appeared just outside King's Cross, and

Who, Wok, Frobisher (looking like a normal human being for a change) and

Sammy climbed out, looking around.

 "Hey Captain, I shouldn't park this thing here," Sammy warned.

 "Why not?" Who inquired.

 "Well, you don't want it to catch fire, do you?" Sammy asked.

 "Where to?" Wok wanted to know.

 "Well, Sammy, what do you think?" Who inquired. "Where would an illegal

time-hopper go to feel at home?"
 
 "You mean where he can rub shoulders with people just as weird and out of

touch with reality as he is?" Sammy asked. Who nodded. "That's easy -

'FORBIDDEN PLANET'."

 Frobisher groaned. "Forget the crap movies, where would they go?"





 Colin had been listening to the Sci-Fi Club's story for over three hours.

He'd looked at pictures - "DR WHO AXED", newspaper clippings "REBEL

DR WHO PAYS FOR BLAST AT BOSS", and more of the same "SYLVESTER

McCOY IS NEW DOCTOR WHO", and had heard their tales of how the

absence of "Doctor Who" had caused the Gulf War, earthquakes, the LA

riots etc etc, and there was only one thing he had to say. "How can we stop

this?"

 The blonde Sci-Fi Club leader, Joe Binks, smiled coldly. "By helping us kill

Michael Grade."





 Michael Grade walked back into his office after a most exhilarating...er...

discussion, and sat back at his desk, turning on the tv. But instead of the

familiar BBC1 logo, there was a revolting green-skinned, helmeted alien

staring at him.

 Strangely, Michael didn't seem at all surprised. "Hello, Grand Martial."

 "Sss...Michael...sss..." the alien hissed, "what have you to report?"

 "Tomorrow, I make an announcement, Grand Martial, the announcement of

the axing of 'Doctor Who'," Michael smiled.

 "Sss...excellent...sss...can you pull it off?"

 "Well, they're rubber, so it really isn't that difficult," Michael informed him.

 "I meant axing 'Doctor Who'...sss...imbecile!" the Grand Martial rasped.

 "I have a back-up plan, an "18 month suspension" load of crap if this

causes too much unrest, but I doubt it."

 "Sss...you underestimate the power of 'Doctor Who'...sss..." the Grand

Martial warned him. "Contrary to the ratings, every human being in Great

Britain watches 'Doctor Who'. You know we fix the ratings...you know many

"men on the street" are strategically placed to fool opinion pollsters...sss...

but 'Doctor Who' is of immense importance...this is why it must be stopped

...sss...but you must be careful, Michael...sss...already enemies are plotting

against you."

 "Enemies?" Michael frowned. "What enemies?"

 "Fans from the future...sss...fans who people listen to...fans with importance!"

 "Oh my goodness, what a horrifying thought," Michael shuddered.

 "Precisely...sss...you must not underestimate these people...they are

obsessed...sss...therefore they are dangerous. One such person will

shortly be coming here to see you," the Grand Martial warned.

 "Who?" Michael asked.

 "Exactly," the Grand Martial hissed. The screen went blank.

 Michael frowned. "Who? Who's who?"

 "Colin Baker, of course," Michael looked up. A fat, curly-haired man with

a stupid flowery shirt on came in. "Oh, hi John," Michael said. "What can I

do for you?"

 "It's more what I can do to you," Nathan-Turner grinned gruesomely. "I'm

here to invite you to an orgy. My place. Friday night."

 "All the usuals will be there?" Grade wondered. "Pimps, prostitutes and

paedophiles?"

 "All BBC executives, of course," Nathan-Turner promised. "You'll be there?"

 "Certainly - no, on second thoughts I can't make it," Michael frowned. "Sorry."

 "Why?" Nathan-Turner looked like a disappointed child.

 "Friday, I'll be thinking up new programme ideas to fill in the gap once I've

axed 'Doctor Who'," Michael explained.

 "Oh, good one, Mike," Nathan-Turner chuckled, getting up. "See you Friday?

Splendid!" He strolled away, still chuckling at Michael's little joke.

 Michael stared after him in contempt. "They can't even contemplate life

without 'Doctor Who'. And when it's dead and gone, society itself shall fall

to it's knees - and then, and only then, shall my race take over - and Earth will

be entirely under the control of the Ice Warriors!"





 Who, Wok, Frobisher and Sammy were standing outside 'FORBIDDEN

PLANET', and Sammy was giving them instructions on how to behave once

inside.

 "For a start," Sammy was saying, "when you go in, DON'T touch anything.

Absolutely everything in this shop has a rip, a tear, or something completely

wrong with it, and if the Lily Munster on the till sees you touch it, you'll have to

buy it, and as 'FORBIDDEN PLANET' charges fifty times the price of what

things are actually worth, I don't advise it," Sammy drew a breath. "Secondly,

there's bound to be other customers - there always are in these kinds of

places, and if there are, then their "fans" - so DON'T make eye contact, or

you'll have a friend - or rather an annoying little twerp who hangs round you

all the time - for life. Understood? Now, if these time-hoppers are here,

you'll spot them straight off - they'll be the most relatively normal people in

there. Okay? You prepared? Then let's go," he opened the doors and

stepped inside.

 Who grabbed him by the shoulder. "Sammy - how do you know all this?"

 Sammy blushed. "Dark secret from my past. I used to be a 'Lost In Space'

fan."

 Wok whistled. "Talk about skeletons in the closet."

 Sammy went inside, and Who and Wok followed.

 Frobisher shook his head. "I always knew there was something sick about

that kid," he followed them in.




 They'd done it.

They were inside.

 "Watch your step," Sammy advised. "There's weirdos at every corner - look!"

 They hid behind a corner, peering in horror at a man in a dirty raincoat, who,

with an inane grin of perverted pleasure on his face, was reading Marvel's

'Return of the Jedi' weekly comic.

 Sammy shook his head in disgust. "What did I tell you? It's SICK!"





 Saward was in the production office when John returned.

 "Hey, guess what?" John chuckled. "Grade just made this really funny joke."

 "What did he say - that he HAS got a mother?" Saward clearly didn't like

Michael too much.

 "No, he said he was going to axe 'Doctor Who'!" John couldn't contain

his mirth. "What a corker! I mean, the sheer thought!"

 "What did you go to see him for?" Saward demanded. "Apart from illicit

ways of raising your pay?"

 "Eric," John replied, "you know very well why. I'm having an orgy on Friday

night. You can still come you know - literally. Want to?"

 "No, thank you," Saward retorted. "I'm not into that kind of perverted

pleasure." John shrugged, and left. Saward reached into his pocket and

pulled out a large, bloodied carving knife, staring at his reflection in the

steel. "I have my own perverted pleasures, thanks," he grinned madly,

and turned to face head on the invisible audience Captain Who was so

fond of addressing. "They say I'm sick because I always kill off all my

characters in my stories!" He pulled open his desk drawer, revealing two

freshly decapitated heads. His eyes blazed madly. "And they're right!"





 Who, Wok, Frobisher and Sammy had split up and were sauntering down

separate aisles.

 Frobisher and Who eased down one aisle towards a small boy of about

ten, who had dark curly hair.

 "Let's speak to this kid over here," Who suggested.

 "Why?" Frobisher moaned. "He hardly looks old enough to cross the

road by himself, let alone time travel."

 "No, but he may have seen something," Who replied. He tapped the boy

on the shoulder. "Er - excuse me, little boy."

 The boy turned. "I've heard about men like you! Go away!" he kicked Who

viciously in the shin, forcing him to hop about on one foot.

 Frobisher looked at the boy in stunned recognition. "Sammy? Sammy Davis

Jnr?!"

 The ten year old Sammy frowned. "Did Mr Meadows send you? God, he's

a fascist! I've only been out five minutes!"

 Frobisher groaned. "This is becoming TOO ridiculous."

 "Do you mind, I'm reading 'Lost In Space' articles," Sammy told him.

 Who finally lost his balance and crashed into an aisle, bringing everything

down on top of him. As the stars (and the magazines) cleared from his eyes,

Lily Munster bent down, smiling. "You've just irreparably damaged all of these.

You owe us five million, five thousand, five hundred and fifty five pounds,

please."

 Who grinned.

 "You really like 'Lost In Space'?" Frobisher was questioning the ten year old

Sammy. "How? Why? Were you dropped on your head as a baby?"

 "It's just brilliant," the little Sammy prattled on. "Some aren't that good. I mark

them all, but the worst only get six out of ten. I don't watch them so often. But

the rest I watch loads of times, and I give them," he looked around furtively,

"ten out of ten."

 Frobisher looked at him in horror. "Captain," he whispered, "we're going

to have to have a serious word about who you let on your space-ship."

 Sammy looked at him. "Are you from the future?" he asked uncannily.

 Frobisher was horrified - if he didn't act fast, they'd end up with two of

the buggers. "Er - no," he assured him hastily, "Bridlington."

 "Ah," the young Sammy returned his attention to the "Lost In Space' article,

"that explains it." He gazed at a photo of Angela Cartwright. "You seen here?

She's cute. Long dark hair, she's gorgeous. I mean, just drop dead Fred. I

mean, she was gorgeous. I wanted to kiss her all over her..."

 Frobisher began backing away, very slowly...





 In the meantime, across the other side of the store, the fifteen year old

Sammy Davis Jnr was currently desperately involved in a losing battle to

not have a conversation with a deranged, apparent 'Doctor Who' fan, whose

main vocabulary appeared to consist of "Cor Blimey! Look at that!", or "Cor

Blimey! She's got big ones, hasn't she?"

 Finally, Sammy lost patience and turned on him. "Look, mate - "

 "Paul," the teenager told him. "Cor Blimey, that's a good name, ain't it?"

 "Look, Paul," Sammy started, before realising he was doing exactly what

he'd said he wouldn't - having a conversation with one of the freaks. "Forget

it," he turned to go, hoping to leave before 'Paul' wanted to know his name,

address and sexual preference, but bumped into a young man, who sent

him sprawling.

 "Do forgive me," the young man apologised. "Here," he helped him up.

 "Sorry about that," Sammy smiled. "Hi, I'm Sammy Davis Jnr."

 "That's quite alright," the stranger shook his hand. "Hi, I'm Joe Binks."





CHAPTER THREE





Michael Grade looked up from his desk, a fixed grin on his face, as Colin

Baker marched in without knocking.

 "I want a word with you, Grade," Colin snarled.

 Jonathan Powell leapt up from under the table and hurried away, hiding his

face.

 "See you, John," Colin smirked.

 "Yeah, see you, Col," Jonathan replied absent-mindedly as he hurried out.

"Ah, CRAP!"

 "What can I do for you, Mr Baker?" Michael smiled, pulling up his trousers.

 "I want to talk to you about plan to axe 'Doctor Who'," Colin told him.

 Michael went purple. "How did you get to hear of this?"

 "That's not important. Is it true?" Colin snarled.

 "No, of course not, it was just my little joke with Nathan-Turner," Michael

recovered his composure.

 "I didn't hear it from Nathan-Turner," Colin said softly. "I heard it from the

future."

 "You're mad!" Michael gasped. "What are you talking about? I think losing

that role in 'Eastenders' has affected your mind!"

 "Then I'll have a good excuse in court," Colin smiled.

 "In court?" Michael raised an eyebrow.

 "Yes, when I'm on trial," Colin drew a gun and aimed it at Michael, "for killing

you." He pulled the trigger.





 Meanwhile, Sammy Davis Jnr was being cajoled into a car by Joe and

Paul.

"Erm - one moment," Sammy broke free and ran back into 'FORBIDDEN

PLANET', colliding with the Captain, who was on his way out. "Captain, I

need your help."

 "Sorry, we don't do vasectomies," a voice emanated from Who's jacket

pocket.

 "Shut up, Frobisher," Who said crossly. "What is it, Sammy?"

 "I've made contact with two 'Doctor Who' fans. They've very suspicious

characters," Sammy informed him. "They could be the time travellers."

 "Why do you say that?" Who asked.

 "Well, they're almost normal. They want me to go with them and join their

club," Sammy told him. "What do I do?"

 "Act like a juvenile delinquent, drool over actresses who've been dead for

twenty years..." Frobisher began. Who hit his pocket, knocking the

Whifferdil unconscious.

 "Amelia Frid isn't dead," Sammy snapped back. "Is she? I hope not. She's

so - "

 "Sammy, come here," Who dragged Sammy to one side. "Go with them.

Find out if they are who we're looking for."

 "It could be dangerous," Sammy protested.

 "Here," Who massaged his pocket. "Frobisher, wake up."

 "What?" the Whifferdil demanded.

 "Split into two entities, and shape-change into an earpiece, bug and mike,"

Who instructed him.

 "Why?" Frobisher demanded.

 "Sammy's going on a dangerous mission," Who told him.

 "Taking a shower, is he?" Frobisher quipped.

 "Just do it," Who ordered. He waited a moment, then reached into his

pocket and took out an earpiece, bug and microphone. "Thank you. Now,

we keep the mike,"

 "Be gentle with it," Frobisher pleaded.

 "The piece goes in your ear," Who fitted in in Sammy's ear.

 "Oh, Christ!" Frobisher fumed, making Sammy a foot into the air. "When was

the last time you cleaned the wax out of these?"

 "And the bug goes under your shirt," Who fitted it.

 "God, you're fat," Frobisher remarked.

 "Are you sure this is such a good idea?" Sammy inquired.

 "I want you to be with those two. There's something very familiar about

them..." Who shook his head. "Now go! Remember - any danger and we'll

be there. Anyway, Frobisher could always show them his true form - that'd

send 'em running."

 "Screw you," the mike replied.

 "Good luck," Who smiled. Sammy left the building. Who stared after them

thoughtfully as Mr Wok came up behind him.

 "What's going on?" Wok questioned.

 Who regarded him myseteriously. "As I said, Mr Wok, unfinished business."

 Wok rolled his eyes. "I wish you'd stop saying that."





 Sammy was in the car, with Joe and Paul beside him in the back seat.

 "Who's driving this, then?" Sammy asked.

 "Oh, Richard. He doesn't say much, and when he does you can't hear him,"

Joe told him.

 "Cor Blimey, he's ugly," Paul commented.

 Joe leant in on Sammy. "So, you're a 'Doctor Who' fan, then?"

 Sammy shrank back. "Er - yes...that's one way of putting it."

 "We'll see," Joe smirked, "won't we, Paul?"

 "Cor Blimey, we will, guv," Paul agreed.

 "See what?" Sammy was becoming more and more convinced this had

been a bad idea after all.

 "See whether you're fit to join," Joe's voice became hoarse and sinister,

"The Sci-Fi Club."

 "H - how exactly do we see this, then?" Sammy inquired nervously, convinced

he was in a car with lunatics.

 "At the initiation ceremony, ALL will be revealed," Joe promised him.

 "Oh, you're one of those sordid sex groups, aren't you?" Frobisher chirped.

 "Hunh?" Joe frowned. Sammy looked around desperately.

 "Who are you then, King Homo or Prince Puff?" Frobisher continued.

 "Cor Blimey, he's rude," Paul laughed.

 "This iniitation ceremony, then - "Sammy began.

 "Your voice keeps changing," Joe noted.

 "I'll be involved in this ceremony," Sammy struggled to regain control of

the conversation, "providing - "

 "None of the activities start with the word Oral," Frobisher cut in.

 "Will you shut up!" Sammy roared.

 "Well, forgive me," Joe said defensively. "What do you want me to do?

Stop the car and let you out?"

 "No - " Sammy protested.

 "Just make sure you and your buddy here keep your trousers on," Frobisher

interrupted.

 Joe raised an eyebrow.






 Colin Baker lay on the floor, dead.

 Above him, holding his Positronic Sonic Device Neutron Electrifier (ie gun)

was Michael Grade, out of his human guise and in his natural, green Ice

Warrior state. "Dear, dear," Michael tutted. "These actors today..." he

sauntered over to his desk, opened a hidden compartment and pressed

a button.

 Colin Baker's corpse literally absorbed into the floor.

 Michael remorphed back into his smarmy human Michael Grade form

and turned on his tv, revealing the Grand Martial.

 "Sss...what is it?...sss...I'm busy...sss...you're interrupting a vital moment

in 'Snakes and Ladders'...sss," the Grand Martial hissed.

 "We need another Ice Warrior down here immediately," Michael told him

crisply.

 "Sss...why?"

 "Colin Baker found out about the axing of 'Doctor Who'," Michael told him.

"I had to kill him."

 "Sss...idiot!" the Grand Martial was not happy. "You should have talked your

way out of it!"

 "I couldn't, Grand Martial," Michael promised. "He had a gun. I think it

was fans from the future. They're plotting to stop me."

 "Sss...of course they are...sss...what do you want of me?" the Grand Martial

demanded.

 "Send down another Ice Warrior to play Colin Baker," Michael requested.

"Oh, but one thing, Grand Martial, he has to be as bad an actor as Colin

was."

 "Sss...that's a tall order, Michael...sss," the Grand Martial replied.

 "I know, Grand Martial, but it has to be done. Please," Michael began.

 

 

Go to part:2 

 

 

Copyright © 1992 Ian Kidd
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"