inert. He moved swiftly back to the bed, snatched up a blanket and with it smothered the crystal on the table. He hurled the bundle into the furthest corner of the room.
Turlough looked from the locked door to the half-open window. He peered down at the gravel, two stories below, then started to gather up the folded sheets from the spare bed.
The Brigadier was not given to flights of fancy. Indeed the Headmaster’s Dobermann was as likely to get up on its hind legs and recite the ‘Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner’ as Lethbridge-Stewart was to admit to intimations .
The Doctor therefore took his friend’s untypical premonition very seriously. He, too, was worried by the level of coincidence in what they had encountered.
Synchrony across space and time — as if some cosmic influence was controlling their destiny.
But metaphysical speculation would not find the TARDIS for him, and he needed to establish the precise time of the Brigadier’s meeting with Tegan.
The old soldier shook his head. ‘That’s a tall order, Doctor.’
‘Don’t worry. Just relax. Think yourself back.’
Very gently, the Doctor coaxed the Brigadier across the years to what, for the subject of the Doctor’s experiment in regression, was the past, but which for Tegan was very much the present...
The Brigadier did not hang about. He explained his plan to Tegan as they left the hut and hurried in the direction of the obelisk. ‘We’ll get a message to Doctor Runciman.
He’ll be on Top Field for the bun fight.’ Without stopping, he looked round for a suitable emissary.
‘A bun fight?’ The young Australian had visions of some Brendon School version of the Eton wall game.
‘The celebrations,’ repeated the Brigadier impatiently.
‘What celebrations?’
The Brigadier looked mildly scandalised. ‘The Queen’s Silver Jubilee, of course.’ He spotted a passing boy.
‘Powell! I’ve got a job for you.’
Tegan looked at the Union Jack on the flagpole and the streamers of patriotic bunting. She remembered the music from Saint Paul’s.
‘Get hold of Doctor Runciman,’ the Brigadier briefed the young boy. ‘Tell him to bring his gear and meet me by the obelisk.’
The Silver Jubilee? They were in the wrong time-zone!
Tegan was appalled.
The Doctor was delighted. The Silver Jubilee! They could pinpoint the date exactly. ‘June the seventh 1977. Well done, Brigadier!’
The Brigadier was less enthusiastic. That last regression had taken him dangerously near the edge of the precipice.
‘Come on!’ shouted the Doctor. There was no time to lose. He needed to return to the transmat capsule.
And so did Turlough.
No one saw the boy as he slid down the rope of knotted sheets, ran across the lawn, past the lake and up the hill to the obelisk.
The Brigadier was not only angry that Turlough had escaped from the sick-bay a second time, but furious to be tied up with school discipline just when the Doctor needed all his help and attention.
‘He’s trying to get away in the transmat capsule.’
‘What’s that, Doctor?’ The Brigadier paused in his inspection of the empty sick bay.
The Doctor was staring at a piece of glass he had picked up from the corner of the room. ‘That is, if he can repair the beam transmitter.’ He continued to peer at the cube in his hand.
‘Turlough?’ The Brigadier frowned. What was it the Doctor knew about that wretched boy? It was time for an explanation.
‘No time for explanations,’ said the Doctor. ‘It could be done, you know. Then I’d never get the TARDIS back!’ He pocketed the crystal and rushed from the room.
‘He doesn’t change,’ thought the Brigadier, and followed him obediently.
Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart was wheezing like a grampus as he climbed back up the hill, while the Doctor strode effortlessly at his side. He consoled himself with the thought that the Doctor was a much younger man.
But it was not his exertions which caused the Brigadier to halt in the
Turlough looked from the locked door to the half-open window. He peered down at the gravel, two stories below, then started to gather up the folded sheets from the spare bed.
The Brigadier was not given to flights of fancy. Indeed the Headmaster’s Dobermann was as likely to get up on its hind legs and recite the ‘Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner’ as Lethbridge-Stewart was to admit to intimations .
The Doctor therefore took his friend’s untypical premonition very seriously. He, too, was worried by the level of coincidence in what they had encountered.
Synchrony across space and time — as if some cosmic influence was controlling their destiny.
But metaphysical speculation would not find the TARDIS for him, and he needed to establish the precise time of the Brigadier’s meeting with Tegan.
The old soldier shook his head. ‘That’s a tall order, Doctor.’
‘Don’t worry. Just relax. Think yourself back.’
Very gently, the Doctor coaxed the Brigadier across the years to what, for the subject of the Doctor’s experiment in regression, was the past, but which for Tegan was very much the present...
The Brigadier did not hang about. He explained his plan to Tegan as they left the hut and hurried in the direction of the obelisk. ‘We’ll get a message to Doctor Runciman.
He’ll be on Top Field for the bun fight.’ Without stopping, he looked round for a suitable emissary.
‘A bun fight?’ The young Australian had visions of some Brendon School version of the Eton wall game.
‘The celebrations,’ repeated the Brigadier impatiently.
‘What celebrations?’
The Brigadier looked mildly scandalised. ‘The Queen’s Silver Jubilee, of course.’ He spotted a passing boy.
‘Powell! I’ve got a job for you.’
Tegan looked at the Union Jack on the flagpole and the streamers of patriotic bunting. She remembered the music from Saint Paul’s.
‘Get hold of Doctor Runciman,’ the Brigadier briefed the young boy. ‘Tell him to bring his gear and meet me by the obelisk.’
The Silver Jubilee? They were in the wrong time-zone!
Tegan was appalled.
The Doctor was delighted. The Silver Jubilee! They could pinpoint the date exactly. ‘June the seventh 1977. Well done, Brigadier!’
The Brigadier was less enthusiastic. That last regression had taken him dangerously near the edge of the precipice.
‘Come on!’ shouted the Doctor. There was no time to lose. He needed to return to the transmat capsule.
And so did Turlough.
No one saw the boy as he slid down the rope of knotted sheets, ran across the lawn, past the lake and up the hill to the obelisk.
The Brigadier was not only angry that Turlough had escaped from the sick-bay a second time, but furious to be tied up with school discipline just when the Doctor needed all his help and attention.
‘He’s trying to get away in the transmat capsule.’
‘What’s that, Doctor?’ The Brigadier paused in his inspection of the empty sick bay.
The Doctor was staring at a piece of glass he had picked up from the corner of the room. ‘That is, if he can repair the beam transmitter.’ He continued to peer at the cube in his hand.
‘Turlough?’ The Brigadier frowned. What was it the Doctor knew about that wretched boy? It was time for an explanation.
‘No time for explanations,’ said the Doctor. ‘It could be done, you know. Then I’d never get the TARDIS back!’ He pocketed the crystal and rushed from the room.
‘He doesn’t change,’ thought the Brigadier, and followed him obediently.
Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart was wheezing like a grampus as he climbed back up the hill, while the Doctor strode effortlessly at his side. He consoled himself with the thought that the Doctor was a much younger man.
But it was not his exertions which caused the Brigadier to halt in the
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