The old Edwardian roadster sped along the motorway at speeds which even a Ferrari or a Lamborghini would have struggled to match. Inside, the driver stared fixedly at the road ahead, his tight lips holding back the temper that burned in his eyes. He was not a happy man.
"Doctor, slow down. Please."
The passenger, Dr Elizabeth Shaw, seemed to be as agitated as her companion was mad. Her hair, half neatly bunned and half loosened by the wind, whipped across her face as she urged the Doctor to bring Bessie down to more terrestrial speeds. Complying, not in response to her words but to his desire to turn off the main road, he slowed the car, changing lanes and leaving the motorway. The incident at Wenley Moor had been left far behind.
"It's no good, Liz. The Brigadier's actions were totally inexcusable, and I just can't work with him any more. I need to get away - to get my TARDIS working and off this planet once and for all."
Liz had seen the Doctor champing at the bit before, but his behaviour had never been quite this intense. Perhaps this time the anger wouldn't go away.
"But, Doctor, you've been trying to get off Earth for months. How do you propose to change things now, without the Brigadier's help?"
The Doctor sneered, taking a turn in the road and bringing the car back up to speed
"I never needed that fool's help - it just seemed like a good way of passing the time. Well I can't spare any more. The Brigadier has finally gone too far."
Again the car turned, cresting a hill to reveal another scientific research centre, immediately recognizable to Liz from its highly distinctive radio transmitter.
"The Pharos Project? How can that help you?"
Slowing Bessie as they approached the main gate, the Doctor looked across at Liz and smiled. It was his first smile since the destruction of the Silurian caves six hours earlier.
"You'll just have to wait and see."
Reaching into Bessie's glove compartment, the Doctor withdrew two passes. He flashed them at the security officer as the barrier was raised, and the old yellow roadster slid past towards the car park. Pulling in, the Doctor motioned Liz out of the car before striding into the control centre. Showing the passes to security once again, the Doctor ascended the steps, taking them two at a time.
22222Entering the room with Liz in tow, the Doctor withdrew a slim object from the folds of his Inverness cloak. It looked like a cigarette case, but Liz knew better.
"Doctor Williams," the Doctor called, catching the attention of the project's director who had been consulting with a computer technician on the far side of the room, "I understand that this project of yours is hoping to set up communications with extraterrestrial life-forms."
Flustered, Williams nodded, looking at the Doctor and wondering, perhaps, how he had got past security.
"Yes, that's right, but who . . ?"
"I am the Doctor, and this is my assistant Miss Shaw," he extended his hand as Liz coughed, commanding some attention of her own.
"Actually, it's Doctor Shaw, and I'm more of a colleague than an assistant."
"Quite." The Doctor harrumphed, dismissing his faux pas as he pressed on with Williams. "Is the dish capable of transmitting yet?"
"Yes, of course. We've been transmitting for several weeks. "
"Well, it won't do you much good, I'm afraid. Most of the species out there are rather impatient, and when they send a reply they'll expect you to do the same within moments, otherwise they'd probably lose interest."
"Yes, well. Radio transmissions can only travel . . ."
The Doctor grinned one of his most superior grins as he interrupted, holding the small device aloft for all to see.
"What you need is one of these."
Moving over to the transmission unit, the Doctor started to pull wires free, reconnecting them to the widget in his hand, which he then connected to the unit.
"What exactly is that thing?" Williams asked, somewhat shocked by the Doctor's spontaneous meddling. "And who said you could tamper with our equipment?"
"It's all right, Dr Williams." Liz tried to mediate. "The Doctor knows what he's doing," she turned to the Doctor, "don't you?"
Fixing the last lead into place, the Doctor straightened, picking up a nearby microphone and jacking it into the unit.
"Yes, I know exactly what I'm doing. This little gadget is a subspace bypass selector, where the signal is instantaneously transported to pre-selected coordinates. I have programmed coordinates for some two thousand intelligent civilizations, so I can guarantee that you'll be getting some pretty rapid replies."
"Rubbish." Williams was incredulous. The man was a raving nutter - or at least he seemed to be until a UNIT pass was produced.
"This technology is most secret, Dr Williams, and I give it to you on two conditions. First, any information that you send or receive should be recorded and stored - not shared with any form of government or military organization. Second, it must not be taken apart, duplicated or tampered with in any way. The technology is far in advance of that which you are likely to understand. Do you agree?"
"Er . . . yes. Yes, I . . ."
"Good. Now, if you don't mind, I have a message of my own that I'd like to transmit."
Switching on the microphone, the Doctor adjusted the volume control and began to speak clearly and concisely into it.
"Calling all intelligent species in the Galaxy, this is the Doctor speaking . . ."
"Aha."
The Doctor's head appeared from beneath the TARDIS console, and he smiled at Sarah-Jane. He hauled himself up and leaned on the console, turning a dial here and flicking a switch there.
"You've fixed it then?" Sarah asked, all innocence and not a bit convinced. Despite its great potential, she was forming an opinion of the TARDIS that she daren't voice aloud.
"Indeed I have, Miss Smith. You should all be back on terra firma within the hour."
"Oh, jolly good," said the irritatingly exuberant Jeremy Fitzoliver, whose idle conversation had driven the others to distraction for some time. Tales of his days at boarding school were about as riveting as watching paint dry.
"If everything is running smoothly, Doctor, why is there a red light blinking on this side of your console?" Said the Brigadier, stressing his disdain for the Doctor's scientific trickery.
"There is?" The Doctor frowned, circling the control room to see what the Brigadier was on about. As the light in question came into focus, the Doctor's face lightened and he began to explain.
"You have nothing to worry about that, Brigadier. It's a high priority subspace message - probably a distress signal of some kind."
"Shouldn't we answer it, then?" Sarah asked, eager in spite of their adventure on Parakon to see some more excitement.
"Not yet," said the Doctor, "it will still be there after I've returned you all to Earth."
"Now, now, Doctor," said the Brigadier, "we can't have you swanning around the universe on your own, heaven knows what trouble you'd get yourself into. Now which button is it for playback?"
"Don't touch anything," snapped the Doctor, "I'll do it."
He flicked a switch, and the message was replayed.
". . . in the Galaxy, this is the Doctor speaking. I am a traveller in time and space who has become temporarily stranded on a hell-hole called Earth, tortured by the company of a belligerent, overbearing, small-minded militaristic buffoon called Alistair Gordon Lethbridge Stewart. I've had just about as much as I can take, so I appeal to the good nature of any of you able to assist me in getting off this primitive planet. My coordinates are . . ."
The Doctor flushed with mild embarrassment.