by John Peel
‘You look like you’re from Earth,’ she said.
‘No, ma’am,’ he said, proudly. ‘I’m from Alabama .’
‘Can you tell me the time?’ Barbara asked.
Dill pulled out his genuine gold pocket watch and stared at it. ‘About three after twelve, ma’am.’
‘No, no, I meant—what year is it?’
Dill was aware that this wasn’t the normal kind of question even New Yorkers with British accents would ask. ‘You have different years here?’
Smiling sweetly, Barbara changed the question. ‘What year is it in Alabama , then?’
‘1967,’ he answered, then slapped his leg and laughed. ‘You wouldn’t be funnin’ me, would you?’
‘Oh, no, I assure you.’ Barbara was pushed aside, and Vicki poked her head out, staring about her in wonder.
Noticing Dill for the first time, Vicki nodded. ‘’Morning,’ she said brightly.
‘’Mornin’,’ Dill answered. Then, glancing at the watch he still held in his hand, ‘1967.’
‘Thank you,’ Vicki said, as though it was the most common thing in the world to be greeted with the year. She moved to the rail, and peered about in delight. ‘This is ancient New York !’
‘ Ancient ?’ Dill echoed.
‘Oh, yes.’ Vicki smiled, happily. ‘There were pictures of it in our history books. Mind you, it was mostly destroyed in the Dalek invasion a hundred years from now.’
This was getting to be a little much for Dill. He took off his Stetson, and wiped his forehead. Then he noticed an old white-haired man and a younger man coming out of the box. ‘How many more of you folks is in that thing?’ he asked.
‘Just the four of us, young man,’ the Doctor replied.
‘Must be a tight squeeze,’ Dill remarked. He moved forwards, wondering how four people could fit into such a small box. And a battered one at that... How had it gotten here in the first place?
Ian surveyed the cramped confines of the observation deck, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think this is the place to meet the Daleks,’ he said, firmly. ‘A lot of innocent people might get hurt.’
‘Yes, quite so, quite so.’ The Doctor was a trifle annoyed at not having had a chance to say that first. ‘The computers will be ready to take us on in a moment. I suggest we re-embark.’
Nodding, Ian called the two females back from their pointing out sights to one another. They headed back for the ship. Dill was still staring in wonder at the little box.
‘You goin’ back in?’ he asked Barbara.
She dragged her eyes back from the horizon with regret. How unfortunate that when the Doctor had returned them to their own time —and only a few thousand miles off course! —they simply couldn’t stay. ‘Yes,’ she said, with real regret. She offered Dill her hand. ‘Bye.’
He shook her hand, grinning. ‘I saw you all come out, but I doubt seriously you’ll all fit back in there—even with your trim figure, ma’am.’ As he spoke, all but the Doctor filed back into the box. ‘Hey!’ he yelped, hit with sudden realization. ‘Now I got it! I’ll just bet you folks is from Hollywood , makin’ a movie! Now that’s the truth, ain’t it?’
‘No, no, that ain’t it,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘Isn’t it,’ he hastily corrected himself.
Clutching the Doctor firmly around the shoulder, Dill howled secretively into the old man’s ear, ‘You can tell me—your secret is safe with Morton C. Dill, yessir!’
Forcing his way out of the unwelcome grip, the Doctor repeated blankly: ‘Secret?’
‘Sure —I seen this trick afore. Great long rows o’ folks comin’ out of small rooms. It’s...’ he groped for the right words. ‘Special effects!’
The only way to evade this idiot seemed to be to humour him. Smiling secretively, the Doctor tapped the side of his nose. ‘Special effects, that’s right. You just wait, young man—I guarantee you’ll see some of the most special effects ever.’ He chuckled at his own joke. ‘Well, nice to have met you, Mr—ah, Dull, but I have to be going.’
‘I knew I was right,’ Dill said, pleased at his astuteness. ‘You’re filming a chase, I’ll bet.’
‘A chase? Quite right, quite right.’ The Doctor popped back into the TARDIS and closed the doors behind him.
‘Them movie folks—great sensa humour.’ Dill banged on the door. ‘Hey, do you know John Wayne?’
With its usual howling, grinding, and complaining, the TARDIS vanished. Dill looked at the space where it had stood, and then shook his head in admiration. ‘Now, that’s real clever special-effects stuff. They’re gettin’ better at makin’ movies all the time.’ With his source of interest literally vanished, Dill turned to check the New York skyline and make certain that at least that was still there.
Behind his back, and far quieter than the TARDIS, the Dalek time machine materialized. After a few seconds, Dill turned round, and almost jumped out of his neatly pressed cowboy suit. ‘Goddarn it, they’ve done it agin!’ he exclaimed, with a whoop. ‘Them movie folks!’
The door to the box opened, and a Dalek emerged, looking about for any signs of the TARDIS. What he saw instead was a remarkably foolish-seeming human, laughing. The Dalek scanned the figure, and realized that it was dressed in period clothing, so was definitely not one of the TARDIS travellers.
Dill slapped the Dalek hard on the casing. ‘Howdy, mister,’ he laughed, tears streaming down his face. ‘Well, you sure are an ugly-looking critter!’ he peered into the Dalek’s gun, then tried to shake it by the arm. Annoyed, the Dalek moved its arm, throwing the idiotic human aside. Offended, Dill scowled at the Dalek. ‘Well, there ain’t no need to act sore. Those other movie folks was downright hospitable.’
‘Where are they?’ the Dalek grated. Perhaps this maniac would serve some function after all.
‘They just... left,’ Dill explained. ‘They was in some beat-up old blue box. It just... sorta... well...vanished.’ The Dalek stared at Dill. For a brief second, his life was almost over; then the Dalek diarmed its gun. It was far worse for the human race to allow this fool to live on. Turning, the Dalek re-entered the time machine.
Readying his camera, Dill looked up in annoyance. ‘Hey, mister,’ he howled. ‘Hold on there! I’d like to get a picture with you an’ me in—’
The time machine vanished.
Lowering his camera, Dill muttered, ‘Darned if they didn’t do it agin!’ He moved forward, and started examining the area where both boxes had stood. There had to be a trick to it, and he’d find it out. No one could fool Morton C. Dill! He went on his hands and knees tapping at the structure, and calling out for the pretty lady or ugly critter, without any luck at all.
At that moment, two of the tower guards came around the corner of the building. They watched Dill’s feverish search, and yells for what seemed to be tiny folk living inside the bricks. After a moment, the senior guard turned to his companion.
‘Keep an eye on him, Sal. I’m gonna get a cop. Make sure he don’t try to jump, or nothin’. He looks loony enough to try anything.’
Naturally enough, when the cop arrived, Dill attempted to explain everything. It did get him a sympathetic hearing for the first time in his life—and a one-way ticket to the Sanitarium.
Within the TARDIS, the mood was grim. All four travellers clustered about the time path indicator. It was still registering strongly.
‘They’re still after us,’ Ian observed, rather unnecessarily.
‘Yes,’ the Doctor agreed, morosely. ‘And I’m afraid the gap is closing. Their time computers must work faster than mine.’
‘Does that mean they’ll catch up?’ Vicki asked.
‘Well, if we can’t shake them off, of course they will, child!’ the Doctor snapped. His nerves were worn from the frustration of failing to lose their pursuers. ‘Every time we make a landing, the Daleks draw closer.’
‘Then sooner or later we’re going to have to face them,’ Barbara pointed out.
‘I’m afraid so.’
Act
ion was what Ian wanted; running away never solved anything, to his mind. ‘The best we can hope for is that we meet them in a planet with the right sort of conditions where we can put up a fight.’
‘Quite so, quite so,’ the Doctor agreed. Though he had spent many years on the move through space and time, he also realized that the Daleks would never rest until they had found his track again. The issue had to be resolved, one way or the other. Either he would win, or the Daleks would.
Vicki was staring at the controls, willing what she had seen to be wrong. When it persisted, she said in a nervous voice: ‘We’re landing again, Doctor.’
‘Already?’ Barbara asked, appalled.
‘Yes, already,’ the Doctor snapped, moving around to his instruments. ‘Our only chance now is to find a place to meet and defeat the Daleks!’
Curiously enough, the people that they were about to meet had also set out from New York — but 95 years earlier, on Tuesday, 5 November, 1872...
Chapter 7
Nightmare
The breeze was stiffening in the sails, the deck creaking beneath his feet. The waves crashed against the brigantine’s bows as she ploughed through steady seas, a sound First Mate Albert G. Richardson loved. The smell of the spray, the feel of a good ship beneath his feet, the pathways over the deep—at twenty-eight, he was more than contented with his life. Raising the telescope to his eye, he could make out the blurred smudge that indicated land on the horizon.
‘Land about six miles off, to Sou’ Sou’-West,’ he reported.
Captain Benjamin Briggs, master and part-owner of the brigantine, glanced up. He was a stern-featured New Englander of thirty-seven, and a devout Christian. He was also the best captain that Richardson had sailed with, firm and strict, but also with a gentleness that prevented his being tyrannical. ‘Aye, that’ll be the island of Santa Maria ,’ he commented, fingering their position on the chart. ‘We’re making good time, Mr Richardson. If the wind holds, we shall reach Genoa a good two days ahead of time.’
Richardson nodded, equally pleased. They had had some rough weather, but nothing that they couldn’t handle with ease. The ship was a delight, and barely half-laden — just 1,700 barrels of alcohol in the extensive hold. That was enough to turn a profit in Italy , and not so much as to make the ship wallow. ‘I’ll mark the reading in the deck log.’
He crossed to the slate board, glancing at the ship’s chronometer as he did so. Then he wrote, in his neat, precise hand: ‘At 8 eastern point bore S.S.W. 6 miles distant.’ That would serve until the entry could be transferred to the ship’s log as the first entry for 25 November.
‘I’m going aft, if you should want me,’ Briggs said, leaving. It was his custom to spend a part of the morning with his wife, Sarah, and their two-year old daughter, Sophia Matilda. Richardson smiled. The child was a delight to all of the sailors aboard, and Mrs Richardson was always ready with a kind and encouraging word.
Alone, Richardson held the wheel loosely, and looked out to sea. He could hear the noises from the galley, where the cook-cum-steward, Edward William Head, was finishing putting away the dishes after breakfast. Head firmly believed in keeping his galley tidy, and would not be seen until everything was put into its correct place. Second Mate Andrew Gillings would be bunked out now, getting his rest after a night at the wheel.
The four sailors—German-born, but American citizens now were down in the holds, checking the alcohol barrels. All of them knew that in confined spaces, those wooden barrels might leak, and alcohol fumes could build up. Ships had been known to have their hatches blasted open and fires begun due to such fumes. Accordingly, the first task for the men each morning was to check to ensure that this was not so. Though the ship had three hatches—fore, middle and lazarette in the after section—the ship’s boat was lashed to the middle hatch, so it couldn’t be opened unless the boat was moved. Accordingly the men—Arien Martens, Gottlieb Gottschalk and the two Lorenzen brothers, Boy and the older Volkert, had opened the fore and lazarette hatches and aired out the hold.
As he was listening, Richardson heard a strange noise from the lower deck a sound that in all his years of sailing no ship had ever made. It seemed like a crashing noise of timbers, metals and glass, rhythmically sounding. As he was getting worried, the noise ceased. Perhaps it had been some noise carried over the surface of the sea?
It was, in fact, the arrival of the TARDIS. It had materialized below the deck house, out of his line of sight. After a moment, Barbara stepped out. ‘It’s a ship all right,’ she called back over her shoulder. ‘A sailing ship, at sea.’
Moving up to join her, Ian glanced about. There was no one in sight, and the place looked and sounded peaceful. ‘Don’t wander away, Barbara. Please.’
Barbara stepped out of the TARDIS, peering about. ‘I’m just looking,’ she said, defensively.
‘There’s no point in being seen,’ Ian objected.
‘If they don’t see me, they’ll see the TARDIS.’ She gestured at the empty deck. ‘Anyway, we can’t come to much harm here, can we?’
‘We’ll only be here a few minutes,’ Ian said, sensing that he was losing this argument. ‘The Doctor’s resetting the controls now.’
Nodding, Barbara took another couple of tentative steps. She had never been on a ship like this before, and the swaying of the deck was almost restful, in an odd way. She just wanted to gaze out over the open seas. Walking carefully to the rail, she stared out at the miles and miles of ocean. The scent was pure and clean, the air tangy with salt. She breathed deeply, enjoying the moment for as long as it could last.
It wasn’t long. Richardson had seen a figure on deck, and first assumed it to be one of the crew, come up to report. With a shock, he realized that it was a woman , in slacks and a shirt! Startled, he opened the cabin door quietly, and moved up behind her, then lunged. ‘Got you!’ he exclaimed.
Struggling, Barbara tried unsuccessfully to break free. ‘Let go of me!’ she cried.
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Richardson said with a laugh. ‘Captain Briggs will want to meet a stowaway.’
‘I’m not a stowaway,’ Barbara snapped. ‘Take your hands off me!’
Richardson got a firm grip on both her wrists, then stood, panting, and looking her over curiously. Apart from her peculiar clothes, her hair was styled strangely, and she wore very odd shoes. ‘Where have you been hiding since we set sail?’ he asked. There wasn’t much room aboard, and Head had not complained of any missing food. This was a peculiar matter. Nor did she sound American, but rather English.
‘Please,’ Barbara begged, ‘you’re hurting my hands. And I haven’t been hiding. I’ve only just arrived.’
Richardson laughed at that. ‘Right you are! I’ll bet you’re a mermaid, fresh lost her tail, and just arrived on board after spying our ship from Santa Maria there, right? Feeling sorry for us poor, lonely sailormen, I’ll warrant!’
‘If I told you the truth,’ Barbara answered, ‘you simply wouldn’t believe me.’
‘I believe what I see,’ the mate answered, significantly. ‘Now come onyou’re going afore the Captain.’
Despite her struggles, Richardson managed to drag Barbara forwards. What he didn’t see was Vicki, peering around the cabin door. She had followed Barbara out for a breath of sea air, and stumbled across the problem. Glancing about, she saw a rack of belaying pins. Carefully, she picked one up, then hefted it. It should just about do the trick...
Within the TARDIS, the Doctor straightened up, finally. ‘There we are,’ he announced. ‘Everything in order.’
‘Good.’ Ian looked at the picture on the scanner screen. It showed the side of the ship, and the sea beyond. ‘I don’t think a sailing ship is the best place to fight the Daleks. It’s too confined.’
‘Indeed. Anyway, we’re ready to move on.’ The Doctor waved a hand at the door. ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to call the ladies, um?’
‘Yes. The quicker we get away from here, the better.’
&n
bsp; Richardson was dragging Barbara across by the cabin when everything went black for him, and he pitched down on to the deck. Surprised at this, Barbara glanced up, and saw a grinning Vicki perched on the ladder to the upper deck. In her hand, she held the belaying pin.
‘Well done, Vicki,’ Barbara said, with relief. ‘Thanks.’
Giving a half-bow, Vicki laughed. ‘Delighted. Any time.’
Both heard the next set of footsteps at the same time. ‘There’s someone else!’ Barbara whispered in alarm. Vicki shot back under cover, and Barbara hid behind the cabin door. With relief, when the person appeared, Barbara saw that it was Ian. Before she could say anything, though, Vicki sprang out and hit down with the pin.
‘I got him! I got him!’ she exclaimed, excitedly. Then she saw who she had hit, and was instantly contrite. Dropping the belaying pin, she jumped down.
Barbara stooped to help Ian to his feet. The pin had caught him a glancing blow, so he was stunned rather than unconscious. ‘Help me get him inside the TARDIS,’ Barbara said to Vicki, who scurried across to help support Ian’s weight.
‘Oh, Ian,’ she said, ‘I’m terribly sorry. Did it hurt?’
Barbara snorted, as she struggled to drag him across the deck. ‘That’s a silly question.’
‘I didn’t mean it,’ Vicki moaned. ‘Oh dear!’
‘Hold him up,’ Barbara warned, and together they managed to manoeuvre him back into the TARDIS.
There was a groan on the deck, as Richardson struggled uncertainly to his feet. Vicki’s blow had merely stunned him too, but his head felt like it was splitting. He had seen what looked like three figures heading across the deck. Staggering to the edge of the cabin, he was astonished to see a large blue box on the mid-deck. Then, a second later, he was just as astonished not to see it.
Somehow, it had vanished.
That blow on the head had done more damage than he had thought! Shaking his head to try and clear it, he yelled, ‘Captain! Captain! Captain Briggs! Amidships!’