Doctor Trek - Meeting The Grade (2)
"Sss...very well...sss," the Grand Martial's image disappeared from the tv screen. Michael turned away, eyes blazing madly. "Nothing must stand in the way, so close we are now, so close - to the Ice Warrior conquest of Earth!" Who and Wok were sitting in a car opposite a building where Sammy had entered with Joe and Paul. "I don't like this, Captain," Wok began. "Neither do I," Frobisher groaned. "It's tasteless, smug and worst of all it's badly constructed. I mean, who writes this stuff?" "Shut up," Who and Wok said together. "Nor do I like being split up into sixty things at once," Frobisher complained. "I mean, I'm a bug, I'm an earpiece, I'm a mike, and I'm this smegging car! Even for someone with Multiple Personality Disorder, this'd be confusing!" "I meant, I don't like the fact Sammy and no one else has even spoken in the last ten minutes. What's going on in there?" Wok questioned. "Frobisher?" Who asked. "How should I know?" Frobisher replied. "I'm only in here, out there, and very probably down there! How the hell should I know?" "Ah - listen," Who put his finger to his lips. The mike crackled. "Hi everyone, this is Sammy Davis Jnr," Joe's voice came through loud and clear. "Sammy Davis Jnr - this is The Sci-Fi Club." "Here we go!" Who cried. CHAPTER FOUR Sammy regarded The Sci-Fi Club with unease. Most of them looked normal, but you never could tell. "That's Chris - " Joe was introducing them all, currently pointing to a blonde guy who constantly had his fingers in his hair. "That's Lawrence, who's co in charge with me," - Sammy wasn't sure he liked the look of him AT ALL - "that's Jonathon," - Sammy smiled at the lanky dark-haired boy who seemed much more interested in the latest issue of 'Playboy' than anything going on in The Sci-Fi Club, an attitude of which Samm could whole-heartedly relate to, "that's Claire," - the young blonde girl who was staring fixatedly at Chris and drooling - "that's Scott," - Sammy couldn't think of much to say about him - "and that's Adam." Adam looked up at him, raising his head in an exceedingly smug and annoying manner, and smiling in an exceedingly smug and annoying manner. "I'm a better actor than you are!" he moaned. "You mumble! You're fat! You're ugly!" Sammy raised his fists. "You're dead!" "Just ignore him," Jonathan advised, looking up from his 'Playboy', "he's a retard. We accidentally picked him up when we went through the Mentally Handicapped ward of the local hospital." "My favourite story is 'Paradise Towers'," Adam ranted, "or maybe 'Time and the Rani'." Sammy nodded. "I believe it." Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm kidding, don't you?" "No, but I think you're a bit effeminate," Frobisher cut in. Jonathan muttered an obscenity and retreated behind his 'Playboy'. "Well, thanks for that, Frobisher," Sammy muttered. "Quite alright," Frobisher sneered. Joe came up, with Paul. "Are you alright, Sammy?" he asked. "You looked like you were talking to yourself." "Well, it's one way of getting intelligent conversation, isn't it?" Frobisher mouthed. Joe frowned. "Well, erm - " Paul smirked. "Cor Blimey, he's got an attitude, ain't he, Joe?" "Really?" Frobisher retorted. "At least I haven't got a speech defect. Do you realise you have to start every sentence with 'Cor Blimey'? It makes you sound like a reject from a cheap 'n' nasty homemade SF spoof series." Back in the car, this exchange was being heard, and Who had his head in hands, whimpering mournfully. Wok regarded Frobisher with contempt. "Frobisher - you really are an idiot, aren't you?" "Don't blame me," the microphone retorted. "Blame the other one!" "Frobisher," Who shook his head, "you've just got to learn to control yourself!" "Enough of this tot," Joe spoke up. "Well, one thing's for certain, Sammy, you've certainly got the right attitude to be a 'Doctor Who' fan. Now then, sit down," he pushed Sammy down onto a stool in the middle of the room. "Lawrence, lights!" "Certainly, Joe," Lawrence turned to the lights. The room went dark, save for a spotlight on the seated Sammy, who could just see Joe, and that was about it. "It's time," Joe said softly, "for the initiation ceremony." "Belts off, trousers down time, is it?" Frobisher offered. "We're going to ask you some simple questions about 'Doctor Who'," Joe told Sammy. "Get them right, and you become a member of The Sci-Fi Club, and can join in our master plan." "And if I get them wrong?" Sammy inquired. Joe smiled coldly. "You die!" Frobisher chuckled gleefully. "Nothing like an incentive, ay?" "He's going to die, Captain!" Wok yelled. "Sammy doesn't know anything about 'Doctor Who'." "Sammy doesn't know anything about anything," Frobisher commented. Who looked up. "But we do. For goodness sakes, the entrance exam to the fleet is a 'Doctor Who' questionnaire. We can give him the answers. He's home free!" "Name the seven Doctor Who's," Joe began. "William Hartnell, Patrick Troughton, Worzel Gummidge, Rasputin, 'im out of 'All Creatures', Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy." "Sylvester McCoy?" Joe asked, startled. A message came through Sammy's earpiece. "Oh, I meant Richard Hurndall. So easy to get those two mixed up." Joe eyed him suspiciously. "Correct. Who played the movie Doctor?" "Richard Chamberlain - er, I mean Peter Cushing," Sammy grinned. "Correct. Now, some more difficult ones," Joe continued. "Who played Professor Laskey in 'Terror of the Vervoids'?" "Trick question!" Who hissed. "'Terror of the Vervoids' hasn't been made yet! Say there's no such story!" "Honor Blackman," Frobisher piped up. Joe drew a gun. "And how, pray, do you know that?" "Did I say Honor Blackman?" Sammy grinned. "I meant to say 'Oh, there's no such story as 'Terror of the Vervoids'." "Oh," Joe was momentarily confused by this. "That's alright, then," he put the gun away. "So is that it? Am I in The Sci-Fi Club now, then?" Sammy demanded. "One last question," Joe said. "Now then, Sammy - who played the third guard on the left who attacked Jon Pertwee and was thrown aside in episode four of 'Planet of the Spiders'?" Sammy frowned. "Er - " "I've no idea," Wok frowned. "Captain?" "I haven't a clue," Who shook his head. "Wok?" "I've no idea," Wok frowned. "Frobisher?" "Well?" Joe roared. "Tell me now - or die!" Sammy panicked. "How the hell should I know?" the microphone roared at Wok. "How the hell should I know?" Sammy roared at Joe. "Lawrence - lights!" Joe screamed. The lights went up, and all The Sci-Fi Club were holding knives and clubs, and dressed in animal skins. It looked rather fetching on Claire, though, Sammy had to admit. "He's not a 'Doctor Who' fan at all! Any true 'Doctor Who' fan knows the answer to that! He's probably a 'Lost In Space' fan!" Sammy groaned. "How the hell did you find out?" "Kill him!" Joe seethed. "Kill, kill, kill!" Sammy leapt away, holding the stool in front of him, backing toward the wall. "Guys, get me out of here!" he cried. Wok stared at the microphone in shock. "He's going to pull back!" he gasped pathetically. "He's going to pull back!" "He's cut off!" Who roared angrily, gripping Wok by the shoulders. "Do something!" Wok began to drool. "Oh!" Who threw him away and dived into the driver's seat, revving the engine. "Hang on, Frobisher!" The microphone morphed into a cute ten year old girl and stuck her thumb up. Who drove the car at full speed into the house. slamming bricks everywhere. "Je - sus!" Frobisher moaned. "I thought - like - you'd drive me up to the door and ask politely to go in!" Who ploughed the car through the enormously large house, driving full-pelt. At one point a large, many tentacled alien threw itself in front and was squelched, bleeding acid everywhere. "Ow, that hurt!" Frobisher whined. "Kill!" Joe and the Sci-Fi Club were just about to ram their knives into the helpless Sammy Davis Jnr, when the car came smashing through the wall, sending bricks everywhere and sending the Sci-Fi Club into a panic. The car door swung open and Who, Wok and the ten year old girl climbed out, carrying big sub-machine guns and began blasting everywhere and everything. "Wow, this is good!" Who admitted. "I'm enjoying myself," Wok agreed. The little girl sulked poutily. "They're dead, alright, can I go now?" "Sammy!" Who called. "Come on!" Sammy dived past the terrified Sci-Fi Club, all of whome were somehow still alive, grabbed Jonathan's 'Playboy' magazine, and threw himself into the car. Who and the little girl backed away into the car, but Wok carried on, seemingly having far too much fun shooting people to just stop. "Wok, come on, we've gotta go!" Who called from the door. The little girl was already inside with Sammy. "Come on!" "Aw, just a few more minutes!" Wok begged. "P - p - please!" "Wok!" Who roared. "We are leaving!" Cursing, Wok threw himself into the car, Who slammed the door, and drove helter-skelter out of the building. Around fifteen streets away, Who was still going helter-skelter. Sammy came up and grabbed his arm. "Captain, it's okay, we're clear. Ease down," he soothed, "ease down." Who stopped the car, breathing heavily. "All that," he coughed, "and we still don't have any concrete proof they are who we're after." "We do now," Sammy showed him 'Playboy'. Who's eyes were rivetted to two main features on the cover. "Yes, they're very interesting, but I still don't see - " "Look at the date of the magazine," Sammy told him. Who narrowed his eyes. "November..." he looked up. "1992?" "Over seven years away," Sammy smiled. "I think we can pretty much take it as read - they're our time-travellers." "Fine," Frobisher, now a teenage boy, smiled. "now gimme that magazine!" CHAPTER FIVE Back in their normal clothes, the Sci-Fi Club were reeling from what had just happened. Joe had been suggesting that they follow the car for revenge. Chris was less than happy with that idea. "I don't know if you've been keeping up with current events," he roared, "but we just got our asses kicked, pal!" "Look," Joe said calmly, "I'm not blind to what's happened here." "We're finished!" Chris yelled, running his fingers through his hair. "Can't you understand that? How far are you willing to go?" Jonathan looked up from another issue of 'Playboy'. "All the way?" he suggested wickedly. "This is an emotional time for all of us," Joe continued. "How far are you going to go for 'Doctor Who'?" Chris cried. "We could all have been killed!" "What on Earth's happened here?" a familiar voice boomed as an unlikely figure strode through the shattered wall. "This place looks like a war zone." "Oh, hi," Joe nodded absent-mindedly at the newcomer, "glad you could make it." It was Colin Baker. Who, Wok and Sammy were discussing tactics, whilst Frobisher was salivating over the 'Playboy'. "Perhaps we should go back there," Who suggested. "Are you kidding?" Sammy retorted. "With those guys? Did you see what they were wearing? They're animals!" "They're crazy!" Wok agreed. "Well, they are 'Doctor Who' fans," Sammy smiled wryly. "Look Captain, I'm serious. Let the Admiralty send in the military to capture those suckers. We're just not equipped to deal with this kind of thing. I mean., let's face it, we don't even know what they're after." "We do now," Frobisher sat up straight. "What?" Who frowned. Frobisher handed him the magazine. "Look at the back." Who's eyes were rivetted to two main features. "Yes, they're very interesting, but I still don't see - " "Examine the ginormous pair of tits," Frobisher told him. Who did so with noticeable enthusiasm. "Ah yes, Frobisher's right." "For a change," Sammy commented. "There's something scribbled over the nipples," Who peered. "That's sheer vandalism," Sammy shook his head. "It says..." Who frowned, "'Things to remember - Pay Papers, Stop Milk, Kill Michael Grade'," he looked up in shock. "My goodness, do you realise what this means?" "Yeah," Wok nodded. "They must be a bloody big pair of nipples." "They are," Frobisher commented, "just look at 'em." "No, no!" Who shouted in exasperation. "I should have known! It's February 25, 1985! Tomorrow is the day Michael Grade announced the axing of 'Doctor Who'. The thing that in most fans' eyes, really destroyed the series. Those fans are here to change history!" Who turned to glare malevolently at his invisible audience. "And we have to stop them!" "It's all over," Colin Baker smiled smugly. "You may as well pack it in and go home." The Sci-Fi Club stared at him in amazement. "You mean..." Joe could barely grasp what Baker was saying, "it's over? We've won? Grade's dead?" "Well, yes and no," Colin smiled. "You've won - but Grade isn't dead." "How come?" Joe was curious. "I merely pointed out to him that 'Doctor Who' was a very popular show, and that axing it would cost the BBC more money than making it," Colin told them, "so he agreed not to axe it. It's over." "I find this very difficult to believe," Joe said suspiciously. "Oh, come on, you can trust me," Colin beamed. "Would I lie to you?" "Yeah," Claire chipped in, "why would he lie? He IS 'Doctor Who'! If Grade axed it, he's be out of a job." "True." It was obvious Joe still wasn't entirely convinced. "Unless of course... unless he offered you a part in 'Eastenders'!" Colin paled. "Now you're being paranoid." Sylvester McCoy was sitting up in his treehouse in the garden of his home, idly fondling the testicles of his favourite ferret. A stocky, not unattractive middle-aged woman came into the garden. "Sylvester love," she called up to him, "what do you want for dinner?" Sylvester regarded her absent-mindedly. "Oh, nothing tonight, Doris." Mrs McCoy looked puzzled, but accepted what he had said and went back inside. Sylvester sat there, contemplating the future. Those two 'Doctor Who' fans had told him how a rogue 'Who' fan had somehow acquired an experimental time machine, picked up some friends from his future, and gone back into the past to stop him becoming the Doctor! They'd even brought video tapes of his stories to prove it, and he had to admit it, 'Ghost Light' and 'The Curse of Fenric' had been rather good, even if he didn't understand a word of them. He'd decided he DID want to play the part, although he was very unsure of what those fans had told him to do so that he'd get it. "Sylvester McCoy?" Sylvester looked down to see four men, one an eccentrically dressed dandy, one a transvestite Chinaman, one a schoolboy, the other a rather spotty teenage lager lout. "Yes?" "You must come with us immediately," said Who. "We need your help to prevent the course of history being changed." And to think, Sylvester mused, yesterday all he had to worry about was getting the right amount of chloroform down his trousers. "Alright," he said out loud, jumping down to face Who and company, "let me just got my coat." Sylvester rushed inside his house and grabbed his duffel coat. "I'm just going out for a while, Doris." "Alright, dear," Mrs McCoy called from the living room. "Oh, and Doris - don't wait up," Sylvester called and went to the door. "Oh, Sylvester," Mrs McCoy rushed into the hall. "One thing I've been meaning to ask you." Sylvester paused. "Mm?" Mrs McCoy frowned. "Who the fuck's Doris?" Colin Baker was tied to a chair with rope. "Now then," Joe squatted by him, "why are you lying? What did Grade offer you? Who are you really working for? What did he say to you?" Colin snarled and spat at him. "Screw you!" Joe raised an eyebrow. "One of those, is he?" Who pulled the car up short outside the Sci-Fi Club's base. "Well, Sylvester, if you can show them what a nice guy you are, they may see sense. I admit it's a long shot, but at the moment it's the only shot we've got." "I'll see what I can do," Sylvester promised, getting up. "What's that?" Sammy pointed to Sylvester's bulging pockets. "Nothing," Sylvester smiled mysteriously, "I'm just please to see you." He climbed out. "Smart alec," Sammy muttered. The four watched as Sylvester walked up to the front door and went inside. After about only ten seconds, he came hurrying out again. "What's he playing at?" Sammy wondered. Sylvester hurried over to the van and dived inside, covering his head. "Get down!" he cried. "Huh?" Who frowned. There was an almighty explosion. The base that housed the Sci-Fi Club erupted in a burst of flame and fire, spreading debris for miles around. "Holy cow!" Sammy gazed at the inferno, open-mouthed. Who turned and grabbed Sylvester. "What the hell have you done?" "Following orders," Sylvester returned his steely gaze. "Whose orders?" Who demanded. "The McCoyites," Sylvester replied. "They're an elite fan group from the future. They're here to make sure I get to play the part." "By killing fans who don't like you?" Who was enraged. "That's obscene!" "Yet oddly appealing," Wok noted. "Captain - wait," Sammy grabbed him, pointing at the flaming house. "The Sci-Fi Club! They're alright!" Who looked and saw that, indeed, the Sci-Fi Club had come milling out of their wrecked base, looking bewildered but otherwise unharmed. "Right!" Who snapped. "Come on!" He dived out of the car, Wok, Sammy and Frobisher close behind. Sylvester moved to follow, but Who dived back in, wagging his finger at him admonishingly. "And McCoy - you stay here!" he dashed off toward the Sci-Fi Club. Sylvester put his tongue out after him. Joe was looking around in dismay at the shattered fragments of his master plan, when a strangely familiar man ran up. "I am Captain James T. Who," he told him. "I know what's been happening here and it's stopping right now. I want you to return to your own time and then destroy the time machine immediately. It's over, you're finished." "B - but," Joe stammered desperately, "there's something you don't know!" "What?" Who snapped. "What could possibly justify all this?" "Something Colin Baker told us," Joe looked haggard, out of control. "Baker? He was here?" Who frowned. "Where is he now?" Joe sighed. "He escaped in the confusion. But what he told us...what he told us..." "Come on, man!" Who yelled, shaking him. "What did he tell you?" Joe looked at him, shell-shocked. "Michael Grade's an Ice Warrior." Who released him. "My God. Time-travelling, aliens...this story's got it all!" "What are you going to do?" Joe inquired. Who frowned. "You lot - go back to your own time - NOW!" The Sci-Fi Club began gathering together. "What about Grade?" Joe asked. "You go," Who told him grimly. "I'll deal with Grade," he stalked off, motioning Wok, Frobisher and Sammy to come with him. "What a guy," Joe muttered in admiration. "Yeah," Lawrence agreed. "You know, I've been thinking..." Joe began. "Me too," Lawrence agreed. "That guy's been giving me a few ideas..." Joe continued. "And me," Lawrence agreed. "He's inspired me to create a cheap and crappy homemade SF spoof series," Joe finished. "Really?" Lawrence looked surprised. "My idea involved me, him, and a family sized tub of blueberry yoghurt." Joe looked at him strangely, and began edging away, very slowly... CHAPTER SIX Michael Grade was sitting in his office, in discussion with the Ice Warrior Grand Martial, when Captain Who, Wok, Frobisher and Sammy came storming in, Who in the lead as always. Michael quickly turned off the Grand Martial's image and smiled fakely. "No need to pretend, Grade," Who rasped, "we know all about you." "Really?" Grade sniggered. "Such as?" "Such as you're being a green-skinned Ice Warrior trying to destroy the fabric of Earth society by axing the most popular television show in the history of the twelve galaxies!" Who roared. Grade was stunned. "Who - who are you?" Who drew himself up to his full height. "I am Captain James T. Who." "Wrong," Grade grabbed his Positron Sonic Device Neutron Electrifier and aimed it at him, "you're dead." Nothing happened. Panicking, Grade fired again. Again, nothing happened. Who allowed himself a smug smile. "I'm afraid your technology is a little antiquated, Grade. Both myself and my assistants are wearing the Positron Device Neutron Electrifier Trek Deflector!" Grade smiled. "That as may be, Captain - but you'll never take me alive!" He jumped up, throwing his desk on top of the four friends, pinning them to the floor. "Sorry, my friends," he beamed, "must dash." He ran over to the bookcase, opened a secret flap and pressed a button. "Bye-ee," he waved - and dematerialised. "A time machine!" Who roared, throwing the desk off them. They all jumped up, brushing themselves down. "Damn it!" Sammy cried. "He's got away!" Who snapped his fingers. "No, he hasn't!" he bellowed. "Come on - back to the teleport cubicle! We can trace him!" They dashed away. Back aboard the TARDISPRISE, Who and co. were gathered around the console in feverish activity. "Come on, Mr Wok, hurry up, trace him!" Who yelled. "I'm doing my best, Captain!" Wok was sweating profusely. "According to this, Michael Grade has already thrown the crew of the MARIE CELESTE overboard." "So that's what happened," Who smiled. "I did wonder." "And he's been to 1888 and slaughtered six prostitutes," Wok continued. Who nodded. "What?" he couldn't quite believe it. "Are you trying to tell me Michael Grade is Jack the Ripper?" "It certainly looks that way," Wok admitted sheepishly. "We have to stop him," Who fumed. "Wait, Captain!" Wok cried. "We've got a fix on him! He's in America, 1968!" "Into the teleport cubicle!" Who roared. The teleport cubicle materialised in silent mode, and Who and co. climbed out into what appeared to be an alien world, with pink polysterene rocks and unconvincing scenery. "Hang on a minute," Who frowned, "this is supposed to be America, 1968. What has Grade done to the place?" "I don't think you can blame it on Grade," Sammy sighed, pointing to where some sort of struggle seemed to be taking place, "look!" "Oh my goodness!" Who took in what was happening with a degree of shock. "A small, freckled, red-haired young boy is being attacked by a giant carrot! We have to help him! Come on!" "Wait, Captain," Sammy restrained him, "this isn't real." "Hunh?" Who was really confused now. "We're on a tv set," Sammy explained. "Oh," Who realised. "And where we're watching the filming of an episode of 'Lost In Space'," Sammy finished in sad resignation. Frobisher gave him a malicious glare. "Is it a ten out of ten?" Sammy frowned. A young girl tapped him on the shoulder. "Erm, excuse me?" "Mm?" Sammy turned and realised he was staring at the teenage Angela Cartwright. "Oh, God." "May I ask what you're doing on our set?" Angela inquired brightly. Sammy found something in his trousers was blocking his throat. "Erm...erm..." "Hey, you're pretty cute," Angela smiled. "Wanna go out, get a milkshake, and maybe become my boyfriend?" Sammy fainted. Angela shrugged. "Guess not," she walked away. "Wait a minute," Who roared, springing back into action, "that carrot!" "What about it?" Wok inquired. "That's an altogether too convincing prop for an American 60's tv show!" Who cried. "That's Grade! Dressed up in his time machine! Come on!" they raced toward the carrot, only to have it dematerialise when they got within two feet. "Thanks for ruining our shot," Billy Mumy accosted Who. "That was the best performance I've ever given in the show! Thanks a bloody bunch!" And with that, he headbutted Who in the testicles. Who doubled up in agony. Billy staggered away, rubbing his head. "That hurt! They were hard! I'm sueing you for assault!" "Oh, shut up!" Who punched him to the floor surreptitiously. "Come on - back to the teleport cubicle! We've got to trace Grade!" they ran desperately toward the blue tent. "Somebody wake up Sammy!" Monday February 25, 1985. Night. With a VWORP! VWORP! noise, Michael Grade dematerialised out of nowhere and blew up his time machine. "Let's see those punks find me now!" With the sound of VWORP! VWORP! he realised that they had. "Oh, crap!" he turned, and ran straight into Eric Saward. "Oh, hi Eric, what can I do for you?" Eric grinned insanely. "You can die!" he roared, bringing out a large knife and decapitating Michael instantly. He held up Grade's head with a macabre chuckle, murmured "Another one for my collection", and lurched away ino the night. Who, Wok, Frobisher and Sammy arrived, breathless. "Where is he?" Who sighed. Sammy pointed. "Look!" The four of them crouched down by the headless corpse. "Is it him?" Wok asked. Who found some ID in the man's pockets. "It would seem so." "So what happened to him?" Sammy gasped. "Well, I don't know," Frobisher put in sarcastically, "perhaps he had an argument with a carving knife." "He's been murdered," Who said grimly, "by someone with a great deal of viciousness, a great deal of evil, and - " he paused. "And?" Frobisher prompted. "And a great deal of intelligence and cunning," Who finished. "It can't be a 'Doctor Who' fan, then," Sammy smiled. "No," Who agreed. "Someone actually from this time. A serial killer, most probably. Someone from the BBC, definitely. And as such, not really our jurisdiction." "So in other words we act like simpering cowards and run away as fast as possible," Wok interpreted. Who glanced at him. "You betcha!" Tuesday February 26, 1985. Morning. The storm had broken. "Doctor Who" was in trouble. And so was Jonathan Powell. Temporarily in charge, whilst Michael Grade was away "holidaying in Switzerland on a skiing trip", Powell was finding it very difficult to cope with the trouble the dear departed Grade had left him in. "No, of course not, Mr Troughton," Jonathan Powell simpered. "'Doctor Who' has NOT been axed. The next series has merely been suspended for eighteen months, that's all...well, I'm sorry you feel that way," he put the phone down. "I wish he'd drop dead!" The phone rang again, for the trillionth time that hour. "Oh, FUCK OFF!" he bawled into the receiver and slammed it down again. He glanced up, smiling apologetically at his 'guest'. "Sorry about that, Director General, I just can't cope with all this." "I realise that." "I mean, the cover story about Michael being in Switzerland is great, but it's put all the heat on me!" Jonathan complained. "I understand." "I can't wait for his replacement to arrive," Jonathan sighed, "then they can sling their abuse at him." "Quite." "When is his replacement due, by the way?" Jonathan inquired. "Oh, soon. Quite soon." "Oh, good. You'll tell me when he does?" "You'll be the first to know." "Promise?" "Of course," the Director-General smiled. "I promise you'll be the first to know when Michael Grade's replacement arrives. Phew, that was a mouthful...what I really need now is a good...sss...sss...sss...sss..." THE END THE CAPTAIN WILL RETURN IN CROSSBREED
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Copyright © 1992 Ian Kidd |