pedagogue — albeit prospectively. He grinned at the paradox: the prisoner from 1977 was, as yet, a stranger.
There were no congratulations, however, from the Black Guardian; no voice; no glowing presence. He took out the cube – a mere piece of glass.
Turlough strolled along the marble ambulatories, exploring libraries and galleries, luxurious salons and halls of recreation.
He began to feel lonely. Perhaps the Doctor was already dead; and the girls; and the older Brigadier. He had been abandoned!
He was on the point of returning to open up the dormition chamber — if only for the doubtful company of the junior Brigadier — when he heard the voices.
From behind a gilded buttress, he could see the Doctor and his companions, alive and well and on their way back to the TARDIS. Could the Doctor be escaping? Had the Black Guardian failed? Turlough followed at a distance, and saw the Doctor, the girls and the senior Brigadier all disappear into the police box.
It suddenly occurred to the boy that, with the TARDIS
gone and the Black Guardian, maybe, defeated, he would be marooned on the ship. He rushed panic-stricken towards the time-machine.
To Turlough’s surprise, the Doctor met him in the doorway.
‘Turlough, listen very carefully.’ An unusually agitated Doctor explained the problem of the two Brigadiers.
As if it were one of Canon Whitstable’s anecdotes, Turlough pretended he was hearing it all for the first time.
‘Find the Brigadier and take him to the transmat capsule,’ ordered the Doctor.
‘But the transmat beam doesn’t work.’
‘The capsule is locked in to the TARDIS homing device. When you operate the capsule it will transmat to the centre of the TARDIS.
Turlough nodded.
‘When you arrive in the TARDIS, stay in the capsule.
Don’t let the Brigadier out until I tell you it’s safe.’ The Doctor slammed the door. The light on the police box flashed, there was a grinding sound — and a rather bemused Turlough was alone in the corridor.
The Doctor was delighted to have escaped from the red ship so easily. ‘It takes a very cunning setting of the co-ordinates to clear a warp ellipse,’ he boasted from beside the console.
The two girls were more subdued. ‘Will the mutants really travel for the rest of time?’ asked Nyssa.
For some reason the Doctor would not look either of them in the face. ‘Sometimes you have to live with the consequences of your actions,’ he replied coldly.
‘That’s terrible.’ Nyssa was close to tears; but the Doctor pretended not to notice.
‘Doctor!’ shouted Tegan suddenly.
‘Something’s happening,’ Nyssa gasped.
‘Not at all,’ replied the Doctor, still concentrating on his navigation. ‘We’re on course for Brendon School in 1983.’
‘Doctor!’ The Brigadier, who had been watching the two girls for several moments, cried out in horror. The Doctor spun round. Nothing could have prepared him for the appalling sight of his two companions.
Tegan’s auburn hair had turned white. Wrinkles raced across her face like cracks in thin ice, and her teeth were beginning to leer from shrunken gums; she was suddenly as old as the hills.
Nyssa’s skin, too, was a network of puckering pleats and lines, her mouth gaunt and twisted as a crone’s.
‘What’s happening!’ shouted the Brigadier.
The Doctor just stared, amazed beyond belief, at the time-worn faces of the girls.
‘Doctor, do something!’ cackled the senile Nyssa.
‘Please... Doctor!’ Hardly more than a death rattle came from Tegan’s throat.
‘Tegan... Nyssa...’ stammered the Doctor helplessly.
The young girls’s clothes hung limply round the bodies of the shrinking hags. Older and older grew the two companions as the TARDIS travelled through time and space. Soon their flesh would be dust.
‘Like Mawdryn in the lab,’ whispered the Brigadier, peering aghast at Tegan and Nyssa’s withering bodies.
‘Mawdryn!’ cried the Doctor. ‘They’ve been
There were no congratulations, however, from the Black Guardian; no voice; no glowing presence. He took out the cube – a mere piece of glass.
Turlough strolled along the marble ambulatories, exploring libraries and galleries, luxurious salons and halls of recreation.
He began to feel lonely. Perhaps the Doctor was already dead; and the girls; and the older Brigadier. He had been abandoned!
He was on the point of returning to open up the dormition chamber — if only for the doubtful company of the junior Brigadier — when he heard the voices.
From behind a gilded buttress, he could see the Doctor and his companions, alive and well and on their way back to the TARDIS. Could the Doctor be escaping? Had the Black Guardian failed? Turlough followed at a distance, and saw the Doctor, the girls and the senior Brigadier all disappear into the police box.
It suddenly occurred to the boy that, with the TARDIS
gone and the Black Guardian, maybe, defeated, he would be marooned on the ship. He rushed panic-stricken towards the time-machine.
To Turlough’s surprise, the Doctor met him in the doorway.
‘Turlough, listen very carefully.’ An unusually agitated Doctor explained the problem of the two Brigadiers.
As if it were one of Canon Whitstable’s anecdotes, Turlough pretended he was hearing it all for the first time.
‘Find the Brigadier and take him to the transmat capsule,’ ordered the Doctor.
‘But the transmat beam doesn’t work.’
‘The capsule is locked in to the TARDIS homing device. When you operate the capsule it will transmat to the centre of the TARDIS.
Turlough nodded.
‘When you arrive in the TARDIS, stay in the capsule.
Don’t let the Brigadier out until I tell you it’s safe.’ The Doctor slammed the door. The light on the police box flashed, there was a grinding sound — and a rather bemused Turlough was alone in the corridor.
The Doctor was delighted to have escaped from the red ship so easily. ‘It takes a very cunning setting of the co-ordinates to clear a warp ellipse,’ he boasted from beside the console.
The two girls were more subdued. ‘Will the mutants really travel for the rest of time?’ asked Nyssa.
For some reason the Doctor would not look either of them in the face. ‘Sometimes you have to live with the consequences of your actions,’ he replied coldly.
‘That’s terrible.’ Nyssa was close to tears; but the Doctor pretended not to notice.
‘Doctor!’ shouted Tegan suddenly.
‘Something’s happening,’ Nyssa gasped.
‘Not at all,’ replied the Doctor, still concentrating on his navigation. ‘We’re on course for Brendon School in 1983.’
‘Doctor!’ The Brigadier, who had been watching the two girls for several moments, cried out in horror. The Doctor spun round. Nothing could have prepared him for the appalling sight of his two companions.
Tegan’s auburn hair had turned white. Wrinkles raced across her face like cracks in thin ice, and her teeth were beginning to leer from shrunken gums; she was suddenly as old as the hills.
Nyssa’s skin, too, was a network of puckering pleats and lines, her mouth gaunt and twisted as a crone’s.
‘What’s happening!’ shouted the Brigadier.
The Doctor just stared, amazed beyond belief, at the time-worn faces of the girls.
‘Doctor, do something!’ cackled the senile Nyssa.
‘Please... Doctor!’ Hardly more than a death rattle came from Tegan’s throat.
‘Tegan... Nyssa...’ stammered the Doctor helplessly.
The young girls’s clothes hung limply round the bodies of the shrinking hags. Older and older grew the two companions as the TARDIS travelled through time and space. Soon their flesh would be dust.
‘Like Mawdryn in the lab,’ whispered the Brigadier, peering aghast at Tegan and Nyssa’s withering bodies.
‘Mawdryn!’ cried the Doctor. ‘They’ve been
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