"Where is it?" Ripley frantically dug in the sand, looking for the hourglass, when she dropped it, it must've disappeared into the sand. She stuck her whole arms through the hole she dug, shifting sand with her hands, but the hourglass disappeared completely.
She wasn't crazy, she held the damn thing in her hands, it should've been somewhere in the sand!
If it wasn't for the sudden voice in her ear, she would've still had it.
Not to mention, the damn voice itself!
It sounded like someone right beside Ripley and so clear, someone should've been behind Ripley!
This planet's already making it's way on Ripley's own list and by the end of it, she doubted she'll be in the mood for the resort. The only thing that's keeping her's the fact that Matt's on the other side of the plain and hopefully safe.
"Luv, what're you doing?" Ripley heard Peter coming towards her, baffled as Ripley tried to dig a hole to the depths of the planet in search for the lost hourglass.
Ripley pulled her arms from the hole and told him what happened, except for the part that the voice said her real name, of course.
"Really?" Peter blinked as Ripley nodded.
Peter helped her stand up and brush off the sand as Ripley's baffled. She insisted that the hourglass was there and she didn't know what happened to it.
"Voice and hourglass," Peter clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Maybe we've been in the sun, too long."
Figured that Peter wouldn't believe her, he never experienced anything like it, and he led Ripley away from the hole she dug towards the tram where they entered and sat in one of the cabins.
"I didn't find anything on my side," Peter side as he sat his big cup on the table while Ripley held a hand under her chin, pondering. Ripley replied that if she was having a breakdown, then she didn't find anything, either.
"Did you try to wire the tram?" Ripley asked Peter.
If the man's been stuck here since yesterday, then he would've at least tried the tram itself, it's the only idea that came to mind at the moment as Ripley tried to think of ways out of their situation.
Peter sighed as he told Ripley that he tried everything he could've think of to get out of here, but nothing stuck for long, and he's certain that whatever's keeping them here knows it.
"Why us?" Ripley wondered.
Why not more victims, why just the two?
"Maybe we're just more attentive than most people?" Peter suggested as he held the Les Paul in his lap, strumming the strings.
It's the only idea that came to mind, that the two saw things that others didn't and because of it, ended up stuck in their situation.
"Yeah, but if that resort's been open for years, how many people do you think ended up like us, but didn't get out?" Ripley feared.
Assuming all people who ended up stuck wound up in the same plain as them and having the same issues as them, it's concerning that they might've not been so fortunate to getting out of here.
"I don't even want to think about it," Peter frowned.
Reason nobody reported anything out of the ordinary, easily explained as, if people died here, they simply cease existence, a blimp.
"What the hell's going on here?" Ripley winced as she pondered their situation.
For all intents and purposes, there's a strong possibility that people going missing, taken by something or someone, forced to relieve 0800 until something happens to them, and nobody the wiser.
"Let's not add to the statistic, then," Peter told her as he began strumming the beginning portion of "Welcome to My Nightmare" by Alice Cooper.
Ripley caught on and asked him where he's from.
"Glasgow, if you can believe it," Peter told her.
Ripley narrowed her eyes as she remembered someone of striking resemble to Peter, on a couple of things here and there, and she asked who he is.
"Not him," Peter knew exactly who Ripley's thinking about. "Maybe we do have a few things in common, but between you and me, luv, I work it better than him. He wishes he was cooler than me!"
He flashed a smile and held up a thumb.
It seems that he knew of the Fonz.
"So, what about you, Glasgow, too, bits of it there," Peter noted the bits of Glaswegian in Ripley's accent and she told him she came from a village nearby.
Don't care to remember the name or how nearby it is from Glasgow.
"Ah, Scottish, too, right?" Peter's roused by Ripley's origin.
She gestured with her hand as she told him, "Depending on my mood at the time, I am."
The West County bit in her accent she got from spending a lot of time with Mercy as she came from there. Jamie's from northern Scotland and bits of his dialect slipped in more than once.
Depending on her mood, she might slip back into Glaswegian, but mostly relaxed with West County.
It's a miracle Matt put up with the mixed accent.
Suppose what they say is true about love, it's blind.
Deaf in this case.
With that said, she's as much Scottish as Peter is.
"Addressing the elephant in the room, I'm from a different universe than him," Peter continued with the revelation.
Ripley asked him how he wound up on his own adventures and Peter told her that he had a bad case of the Mondays, quit his job, and things or another happened that resulted in him adventuring.
"Doesn't your family miss you?" Ripley inquired.
Explaining to your family that you quit your job and adventured, sounded almost like something from a bad comedy, but Peter told her they're well-aware of his travels. After all, he stills provides for them, even as far as he is from them. Not to mention, he'll visit them plenty of times before heading off to another adventure.
Ripley expected him to ask about her family and he never did, almost like he knew it wasn't something Ripley wanted to discuss openly.
"And word to the wise, luv, never take a job as a spinner. Throbbing veins and everything. Not healthy," Peter described his former job. He had to fix things, spin things around and around, hoping to calm the backlashes that inevitably came with working in the political environment.
"I don't suppose your last name's Tucker, by chance?" Ripley asked him.
Chortling, Peter smiled as he shook his head.
"Nah, luv, but you know what they say, less is more," he summed not telling Ripley his last name.
It's also a safety concern.
Peter doesn't spout his name to everyone he meets in likelihood they'll wound up in his neighbourhood looking for him.
And the people who inevitably track him aren't people he wanted near his family.
So, as a compromise, he went with something nondescript to keep things simple. Long as he has that, no one must know his real name.
"Fair enough," Ripley nodded.
She couldn't say much considering her own situation.
As the two sat and discussed probable causes for their situation, Ripley caught movement in the corner of her eye, and turned her head.
In the distance, something raising in the sand before lowering, again and again, moving.
Ripley would've assumed a dust bowl, but it wasn't, and it was coming towards the tram.
"What?" Peter looked out the window.
He noticed it immediately and cringed.
Ripley asked him what it was and he admitted to her that he didn't know.
"You don't suppose the tram's heavy enough to not topple, right?" Ripley asked him, worried.
Peter clenched his teeth before saying that it's better they not asked and told Ripley they'll have to do something daring.
That is, leaving the tram and luring whatever's coming towards it to follow them.
"This never happened when I got here," Peter told her. "I don't want to take a chance that it won't reset."
There's a distant roar and the two fled the tram cabin and off the tram, running as far as they could with whatever's in the distance roaring.
"What the hell is it?" Ripley asked.
Peter looked behind them to see the bubbling sand and forty eyes poking through them near the tram.
He flinched as he turned back and told Ripley, "Sand worm!"
Ripley remarked they're not on Jupiter and Peter corrected her.
There's no sand worms on Jupiter, just something someone made up.
What's on Jupiter, were the ankle biting, gnashing teeth, annoyingly sounding, nocturnal, cretins, called sand wyvern.
"Don't worry, buggers can't stand White Snake!" Peter told her what warded them off until he escaped from Jupiter.
Apparently, even sand wyvern has preferences, as Peter suggested that if Ripley's in a pinch, throwing some in some Journey might help bide time.
"Good to know," Ripley noted the suggestions.
Hey, one never knows where the TARDIS took them, so it's better to stock up on what little knowledge they can find in the event it's needed.
Running, Peter saw a hill in the distance, made of stone, and he instructed Ripley to hurry towards it.
Fleeing, the pair struggled to climb up the hill and look down at the advancing sand worm continued coming towards them.
It poked it's massive head out of the sand and looked around.
To describe a sand worm, think of a pale blood worm with spiny thorns covering the sides of it's body, forty black eyes the size of dinner plates, teeth blacker than licorice, bigger than four decker buses in line, wide mouth like an ancient gator, and a temper of a moose with a sore tooth.
"Bugger!" Ripley clenched her teeth together as they watched the sand worm move it's head before burrowing back into the sand and disappeared underneath the mounds.
Looking towards Peter, Ripley asked, "So, that never showed up?"
Peter nervously shook his head.
He concluded that the sand worm felt them moving around the sand, so it acted accordingly, coming towards them.
That didn't help with the theory of what happened to other people who were trapped in their situation.
"Okay, so we can't walk on the sand," Ripley noted. She looked towards Peter and asked how it didn't find him if he played his guitar so much to pass the time.
Peter shrugged as he said, "Maybe he liked a bit of Survivor?"
It was an attempt to help ease the tension they were feeling and they looked down to the sands below, trying to figure out what to do.
"Think it's staying around?" Ripley asked Peter.
Peter replied that it's possible it thinks the two are still around so it won't stray far. Especially, if it's hungry.
"Well, let's not make a meal for it," Ripley sighed as she settled on her spot.
It's not hot, so none of them worried about burning their bums, but that didn't help their situation.
A sand worm that used vibrations to find prey.
Reason it didn't chase Peter's because he stayed sedentary for a while and it couldn't pinpoint his location.
When he and Ripley tried to find clues, their combined movement must've set it off.
"Why didn't it come when the tram line was built?" Ripley wondered. "Why didn't it try to get us in the tram?"
Peter told her that because it's built upwards, it probably prevented the tram from vibrating the sand, and the concrete supports helped prevent the worm from feeling the rumbling tram.
Now, for the question at hand.
How to deal with a sand worm?
Crossing his legs, Peter pondered their situation.
"I'm a nasty sand worm, I've got a temper, and I feel for things," he summed. "What would drive me away?"
Ripley suggested he try playing a bit of pop songs and he shook his head. He said, "I don't want to serenade it, luv, I'm trying to scare it!"
Shrugging, Ripley told him to play Ozzy.
"Maybe the Prince of Darkness can scare it away?" Ripley suggested. "Worked for the churches, no?"
Pondering, Peter put his hands together.
If they had grenades, this would be a lot easier, but they don't, so they had to carefully choose the course of action that wouldn't result in the tram damaged.
It's a good guess, that the tram's important somehow, and they don't want to risk it damaged if it doesn't revert like Peter's cup.
Better safe than sorry, they'll stick by the rock, until they can come up with a plan.
