X-NEWS: spcvxb.spc.edu junk: 545106 Xref: spcuna junk:545106 Path: spcuna!rutgers!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!pipex!uknet!gdt!ch0mpc From: ch0mpc@midge.bath.ac.uk (M P Clifton) Newsgroups: alt.drwho.creative Subject: The Five Doctors Cabaret Extravaganza part 6 Message-ID: Date: 20 Jan 94 12:36:33 GMT Organization: School of Chemistry, University of Bath, UK Lines: 224 ******************************************************************************* ** The All-Singing, All-Dancing Five Doctors Pro-Am Cabaret Extravaganza ** ** part six ** ** (c) Matt Clifton 1994 ** ******************************************************************************* "And then," concluded the fifth Doctor, "I blasted the second Terileptil, nutted the third to the floor, leapt from the window and chucked a grenade back into the building. Whole place went up like straw. So did most of London, actually. Heigh ho." "Indeed," prompted the first Doctor, gesticulating madly with a cucumber sandwich. "Stop that," admonished Tegan. "You'll go blind." In fact, the likelihood was that the Australian air-hostess would lose her sight rather sooner ; this might have something to do with the teaspoon that the old man had just lobbed in her general direction, and which was now winging its way towards her retina. Luckily, the temporal grace of the console room cut in before it could reach her, and the spoon was hurled screaming into another dimension and landed on a parallel universe Earth where it swiftly became President of Venezuela in a bloodless coup. "Phew," Tegan exclaimed. "I didn't expect a parallel universe." Turlough burst through the interior door. "Nobody expects - ", but was cut off before he could say any more, primarily by the sink plunger that was hurled at terminal velocity into his face. "Ug!" he protested, and staggered back into the corridor, pulling the domestic cleaning accessory from its landing place over his nose and mouth. "Enough of this sillin..." started Tegan, but she too was interrupted by a large custard pie, cunningly fashioned from shaving foam (because real custard pies don't exist anymore) that made a touchdown with a satisfying splat on her backside. She turned, and ducked just in time to avoid the plank in the face that the man in the boiler suit and flat cap had just offered her. In return, he received a bucket of nitric acid over his head, which emitted a pungent cloud of steam as it dissolved through his skull. "That'll take hairs off your chest," chortled Doctor One. The doors opened and a clamouring group of small schoolboys rushed in, having just escaped the room that the first Doctor had trapped them in several years ago when they came calling for their football back. They saw the carnage. "Food fight, food fight," they all chanted. "Jumble saaaa-aaaaa-aaale." But just then they tripped over, fell against the ejector control and were sucked into the vortex, making everyone else a lot happier. Except for the fifth Doctor, who was somewhat peeved, and said so, violently and with the use of sharp corkscrews. "What's up, Doc?" chorused the first Doctor, Tegan, and Turlough, who had just re-entered the room, albeit more carefully than last time. The Doctor explained. "The script says that I've got to stop all this larking around with cosmic angst and get off my backside and go and visit the tower." He was sorely tempted to tell the script to go swivel, but if the others saw him talking to a sheaf of paper, not to mention the lengthy argument he had had last week with a cheese grater he had named Peregrine, they'd have packed him off to the big white building before he could say "Mooga". "I'd better go, I suppose. One of us has to do the rescue-the-Ambassador/ save- the-planet-from-annihilation/ defeat-the-invasion-force stuff," he said. "And it might as well be Turlough!" At this, he leapt from his chair towards the boy, intent on grappling him to the floor and chucking him out of the TARDIS armed only with a cheese sandwich and a rolled-up copy of 'What Companion'. But Turlough had anticipated this move, and had vacated his seat only to deposit a badger trap in his place. The metal jaws fastened with a snap around the Time Lord's hand, and it would have been really rather messy had the temporal grace not stepped in and transformed the trap into a tube of Spangles. The first Doctor huffed with impatience. "Go on, stop wasting time. Off you go. You'd better take Susan." His later incarnation glanced at the woman, who although advanced in years, had still managed to retain the same incredibly ugly features she had possessed at Coal Hill School. "Mmm, perhaps when we get back," he decided, "in the meantime she can come with Tegan and myself to the tower." ********************************************************************** "You said go right!" "I said, go left!" "If you had said go left, do you suppose we'd be pootling along this dirttrack to nowhere that the right hand junction happened to lead us on to?" "No. If I had said go left, we'd have taken seventeen thousand right turns in a row and ended up spiralling through the core of the Earth. Then I suppose you'd have blamed me for that, too!" Sarah folded her arms and stared over Bessie's bonnet at the narrowing path over which the vintage roadster was trundling. The Doctor's stated intent, she recalled, had been to reach the Tower of Rassilon without having to go through the mountains, whereas what he had actually done was to head straight for the highest snow-capped peak without going anywhere near the Tomb. "Well, you lost the map," muttered the Time Lord. "Well, you forgot the picnic hamper!" "Well, we didn't have to invite your mother!" screamed the Doctor, pointing at the old lady perched on the back seat of the car, handbag in lap, peering myopically at the passing scenery and occasionally cooing and pointing at things. Sarah bit her lip. "She's never been to Wales before," she defensively. Ignoring the shushing noises the Doctor was making, she turned to the old woman. "HAVE YOU, MOTHER? NEVER BEEN TO WALES BEFORE, HAVE YOU?" The woman stared at her for a bit, smiling vacantly, then nodded. "Couldn't eat a whole one, dear." The Doctor groaned. "Great," he snarled. "I'm up against the most powerful Time Lord in history, and I'm saddled with a deaf and blind jumble sale refugee." A hand appeared in front of his face, waving something. "Would you like a Murray's Mint?" Mrs Smith's sing-song voice offered. He attempted to bat it away, keeping one hand on the wheel. "Piss off, you old crow." The other hand appeared now, with the tube of mints grasped in the woman's gnarled fingers. "Here you are. You keep the packet." The Doctor flailed at the mints with both hands. "I don't want an effing Murray Mint!" he yelled, then yelled some more as the car went spinning into the bracken at the side of the road and began to roll down the slope. "Yeeaarrgghhh!!!" yelled Sarah and the Doctor in strangled tones. Mrs Smith cooed and pointed at the bank of earth falling rapidly past them. Finally Bessie came to a shuddering halt at a 25 degree angle to the ground, the two offside wheels trapped firmly in the rut created by their rapid slide downhill. Steam poured from the radiator. Sarah, head jammed under the dashboard, groaned loudly. The Doctor span round and prepared to deliver a Venusian aikido death-blow to the side of Mrs Smith's neck. "You maniacal -" he began. Then stopped. "I say. That's a very Satanic-looking beard." "Thank you Doctor," said the Master, climbing out of the old woman costume. "I like to think my three hours in front of the mirror each morning is appreciated." "It certainly is," agreed the Doctor. "That's three hours you're not walking around in public, and that's worth anyone's appreciation." He prised Sarah out from her recess and unlocked the passenger door. It swung for a moment on the hinge and then crashed out onto the ground. "Of course," exclaimed the girl. "I should have realised. 'Mrs Smith' is an anagram of 'The Master'." Both Time Lords thought for a second. "No, it isn't," they unisoned. "Yes, it is," emphasised Sarah, "if you swap the S for an A, drop the M, swap the I for a T and add two E's." "That's cheating," admonished the Master, putting the TCE down on the car bonnet and working it out with his fingers. "The nearest you could get would be Th' Mmissr. Couldn't go around calling myself Th' Mmissr, could I? People would laugh." "Yes, they do," agreed the Doctor. "Anyway, what do you want? I suppose we can blame you for this little set-up? What is it this time - want to try and take over the entire universe again? Isn't that a bit passe these days?" The Master smiled, circling the car like a cat. Well, not all that much like a cat, I mean, he didn't stop to sick up hairballs or give his genitals a good cleaning with his tongue, much as he would have liked to. "This time, my dear Doctor, it may surprise you to know that I am on your side. I am here to help." The Doctor stared for a moment. "Excuse me a minute," he said, fished out his Sonic Screwdriver and proceeded to shake out the wax in his ears with a quick sonic blast. He pocketed the device and apologised. "I appeared to be experiencing some sort of auditory hallucination," he explained. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" The Master pulled out of his cloak the Seal of Rassilon given to him by the Lord President. "The Council came up with this idea. They thought it might convince you of my sincerity." "How exactly is it supposed to do that?" As the Doctor voiced the question, the Seal began to glow. A tinny tone emanated from a small speaker set into its base. It sang. "The Master is sincere Oh yes, he's pretty sincere Gosh, whee, jolly whoops, what ho! Yes, he's sincere all right. So that's all settled then. Ner-night." There was a pause. "Well, _I'm_ convinced," said Sarah seriously. "Well, I'm not," snapped her companion. "This is a trap. A badly-planned, obviously-concealed, poorly-executed and prematurely-sprung trap. The worst kind." Taking Sarah by the hand, he marched down the rest of the slope towards the valley floor, a narrow cleft in the plain that ran up towards a pass in the mountain range. He stopped for a moment and turned back to face his archenemy. "And don't try and follow us!" he yelled, then turned back and trudged down the path. The Master flicked through his guidebook and located the map. Tracing the Doctor's path through the Zone, his index finger alighted on an icon, marked in the index as 'Domain of the Worrier Robots". "I wouldn't dare," he whispered, and allowed himself a malicious smile. END OF PART SIX -- ***************************************************************************** * Doctor: The fluid link's run out of mercury, see? * * Ian: No it _hasn't_. The Daleks (original script) * *******Random Grouch**************************ch0mpc@midge.bath.ac.uk********