Doctor Who: Delta and the Bannermen
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Authors: Malcolm Kohll
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As the ten billionth customers at a space tollport the Doctor and Mel win the Grand Prize
– a place on the Fabulous Fifties Coach Tour to Disneyland, Planet Earth.
Unfortunately, they don’t quite make it there . . .
Knocked off-course by a wayward satellite the coach party arrives instead at Shangri-la, a remote Welsh holiday camp.
But the peace and quiet of the countryside are soon shattered by the arrival of an army of marauding Bannermen soldiers, led by the ruthless Gavrok. They are tracking down Delta, the last of the Chimeron, with only one thought in mind – her destruction . . .
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Science Fiction/TV Tie-in
DOCTOR WHO
DELTA AND THE
BANNERMEN
Based on the BBC television series by Malcolm Kohll by arrangement with BBC Books, a division of BBC
Enterprises Ltd
MALCOLM KOHLL
Number 135 in the
Doctor Who Library
A TARGET BOOK
published by
The Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
A Target Book
Published in 1989
By the Paperback Division of
W.H. Allen & Co. Plc
44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB
Novelisation copyright © Malcolm Kohll, 1989
Original script copyright © Malcolm Kohll, 1987
‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1987, 1989
The BBC producers of
Delta and the Bannermen
was John Nathan-Turner.
The Director was Michael Ferguson
The role of the Doctor was played by Sylvester McCoy Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading
ISBN 0 426 20333 X
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser.
CONTENTS
The time traveller known as the Doctor chuckled to himself. Of all his multifarious incarnations, this was one of the nicest. He was, in fact, old beyond reason, but he inhabited the ever-present universe of the ‘now’. Time, like a limitless ocean, spread out about him on all sides. He appeared to be in what could charitably be described as early middle age. He still had sufficient energy to scuttle around like a young man, but had acquired enough thoughtfulness to ensure that he was always taken seriously.
‘One lump or two?’ asked Mel, his bubbly young assistant, coming from the galley bearing a steaming tea-tray. ‘Make it one,’ said the Doctor. ‘I can’t abide too much sweetness!’
They drank their tea in silence. On the bridge of the Doctor’s remarkable vessel, the hidden light source bathed everything in a soft glow. The TARDIS, an acronym of Time And Relative Dimensions In Space, was due for a major overhaul. The faulty steering mechanism needed to be repaired and it was for this reason that the Doctor was taking it easy. Also, the chameleon circuit needed looking into – the device which enabled the TARDIS to blend in unnoticed wherever it landed. At the moment the vessel was disguised as a blue police telephone box, complete with a flashing blue light. While this provided perfect cover for Great Britain in the 1950s, it made the TARDIS stick out like a sore thumb whenever it went anywhere else.
‘Would you like a digestive biscuit, Doctor?’ asked Mel.
‘Hmm? Oh, no thank you – I find them structurally unsound.’
‘You mean they fall into the cup when you dunk them?’
said Mel.
‘Correct,’ replied the Doctor putting up his feet and draining the last drops from his teacup.
The TARDIS streaked through the vacuum of space...
The tollport hovered in space like a gigantic dandelion, infra-red flightpaths radiating from its central core in every direction. Inside the TARDIS the Doctor locked onto the landing trajectory and turned to the scanner as the tollport slowly filled the screen. Mel sat quietly watching the time rotor sigh and hiss through its rhythmic oscillation, eager to be through the tollport and speeding towards their next destination. She found the whole business of paying a fee to be allowed to travel through infinite space something of a paradox, but the Doctor had assured her that the fees which were raised allowed the Confederation to erect barriers at some of the more dangerous hyperpasses. When all was said and done, Mel would rather suffer a slight inconvenience than expose anyone to unnecessary danger.
The TARDIS tripped the automatic incoming warning device, triggering the loudspeaker inside the control room.
The tinny mechanical voice spoke its bland message: ‘Attention incoming craft. You are approaching tollport G715. Please have your credits ready.’
The Doctor started rummaging through his pockets, searching in vain for any credits.
‘It’s strange how in some galaxies these tollports spring up like mushrooms, yet in others you can go for light years without seeing a single one,’ he said. The Doctor drew a large spotted hankie from his pocket and dropped it on the flight deck before him. Bathed in a luminescent glow from the instrument panel the hankie ball appeared to throb with life. The Doctor carefully unfolded it, hoping to find a credit hidden within its folds. All he found was a fluff-covered humbug.
Mel was staring anxiously at the scanner, ‘Er... Doctor...’
The Doctor popped the sweet into his mouth. Unaware of Mel he continued with his theory: ’I think it relates to the way in which space was first developed – there never was a consistent three-dimensional planning policy.’
Meanwhile, Mel’s face had grown grave. Something on the screen was worrying her.
‘Doctor, something doesn’t look right,’ she said. ‘Only the landing lights are on. It looks abandoned.’
But the Doctor was by now so absorbed in his diatribe against haphazard planning that he barely heard her. ’Of course by ignoring the overspill from the fourth dimension entirely they sometimes built one port right on top of another, only realizing their error when there was an interface slippage.’
On the scanner the tollport appeared grey and life-less.
Mel’s tone had become urgent, ‘This is serious, Doctor.
There’s something wrong...’
‘I know it’s serious!’ he replied. ‘I don’t have any change.’ The grim-looking tollport now filled the scanner screen. ’Please take five credits from the kitty,’ said the Doctor.
Mel picked up the kitty, a striped biscuit tin, and tipped it out into her hand – empty! ‘There’s nothing in here.
Again!’ she moaned. A look of bemused interest flashed across the Doctor’s face. ’That kitty defies all known physical laws. We always fill it up and yet it’s always empty!’ He turned to the scanner and his face suddenly set in consternation. ’Mel!’ he whispered urgently, ‘There’s something wrong. Only the landing lights are on!’
Mel gave the Doctor a sideways glance which was more eloquent that anything she could possibly have said.
The TARDIS sank gently onto the target markings on the runway – three concentric rings on a concrete slab. The time rotor gave a final sigh and shut down as the flashing lights went out. They had landed.
The TARDIS had stopped outside a huge hangar with the toll identification boldly written on the side, in all the major languages of the galaxy. To the right of the hangar was a small tollbooth with the toll fees displayed on a large board beside it. The TARDIS was lit by a single harsh spotlight, the rest of the complex being cloaked in the inky blackness of deep space. Trails of mist blew across the cold runway, adding to the impression that the station had been sacked or abandoned in great haste.
The TARDIS door slowly eased open and the Doctor peered cautiously out. ’Hmmm, I don’t like it one little bit,’ he muttered.
‘Me too. It’s spooky,’ said Mel, emerging stealthily behind him.
‘Be ready to get back to the TARDIS at the first sign of trouble,’ said the Doctor. He was straining to pierce the murky gloom when suddenly a brilliant spotlight flashed on, catching Mel and the Doctor in its harsh glare. A loud
’HALT!’ echoed across the runway.
The Doctor shielded his eyes against the glare. ’Who’s there!’ he demanded. ’Why don’t you come into the light and show yourself?’
The tollbooth and the runway became a blaze of lights.
Revealed in the tollbooth window was the Tollmaster, a scaly alien wearing a spangly jacket and party hat. He was blowing a party razzer and grinning from ear to ear, his lips curling back to exhibit a fine set of large white teeth.
He seemed in high spirits and gave his razzer one last blow before crying excitedly, ’Surprise! Surprise! Welcome friends. A thousand times welcome.’
The Doctor, realizing that danger was past, now became irritable at having been the butt of a joke.
‘I must say, you have a funny way of showing your friendship. I thought you’d been robbed by space pirates.
We were about to warn the authorities. Now, about the toll fee...’ He started rummaging through his pockets again.
Although he knew it would be fruitless, he always thought it was worth making the gesture.
The Tollmaster dismissed the Doctor’s efforts with a wave.
‘Tonight is your lucky night. You are out ten billionth customers!’ said the Tollmaster. Leaning out of the window he pointed to a flashing string of digits pulsing above the tollbooth.
The Doctor, however, had no plans to stay and join in the celebrations. ‘Ten billionth, eh? Well, congratulations.
Now, if we can just settle up and be on our way...’
The Tollmaster, temporarily deflated, quickly interrupted the Doctor. ’But you’ve won our Grand Prize!
Mel, who until now had watched the exchange in silence, suddenly became animated. ‘Oh really! What is it?
I’ve never won anything before,’ she cried, hopping from foot to foot in excitement.
