The Buccaneer Chronicles:
Written by Tony Gallichan. Plot by Karen Dunn and Tony Gallichan
Chapter Eight - "Taking Shelter by the Standing Stones, Miles From All the Roofs"
"Just who do you think you are, interfering with my experiment? Hmm?"
Curtis sighed. The last thing he needed was some eccentric getting in his way. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I was not going to stand by and let people's emotions get the better of them." Macfadyan frowned.
Er, if you're from UNIT then why are you involved with a small time local dispute? Surely it has nothing to do with you?" They were walking through the rapidly emptying Parish Hall car park. Twilight had long since come and gone and the shadows that stretched out long in front of them were the product of light streaming from the large Gothic windows of the Parish Hall.
"After the, er, disruption at previous meetings, I was asked to be on hand, you know, a calming and authoritative voice and all that. Perhaps, Sir, you could answer me a question?"
"That's very likely. I can answer most questions put to me, and certainly any and all that you might be able to dredge up from the peanut you seem to have as a brain."
Curtis gave Macfadyan a sideways look.
"Er, quite. Just what experiment were you conducting?"
"Well, I doubt that you've noticed, young man, but something rather odd is happening on this little rock you call home." Curtis kept quiet - no need to give anything away just yet, why not see how much this new romantic throwback knew about the "incidents".
"Someone has died in exceptionally gruesome circumstances and someone else has seen a 'bear' - a creature that doesn't exist outside of Gerald Durrel's zoo. I take it they have not misplaced such a creature?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Something is happening on Jersey. Something... 'emotional'. I have a theory that there is some kind of force is causing all this to happen. It seems to harness emotion and amplify it. I heard that the taxi driver was ripped apart?"
"Where did you hear that, might I ask?"
"Oh, random gossip." Macfadyan flapped a nonchalant hand in the general direction of St. Helier. "Lieutenant, I should like to see the scene of his death. As you've ruined my little plan.."
"Which you still haven't explained."
"Oh good grief, surely it was obvious? Find a place where emotion is running high and try to communicate telepathically with our mysterious force. Ask it why it's doing what it's doing and ask it politely to stop."
"Yes." Macfadyan began to look around. "Where are Blanche and Cre'at?"
A sound of a car window being smashed came from behind them.
"Ah, there they are." And he walked off to scold Blanche for trying to teach Cre'at how to break into cars.Curtis watched him stride off. He frowned for a moment, and then a look of excitement mixed with apprehension filled his face. The clothes. The attitude. Surely it couldn't be. Then a floating metal head bobbed around the corner. Well, that was that question answered.
* Greetings, musty smelling, military primitive. *
On behalf of the people of Earth, may I offer the hand of friendship?"
* Would you like a vegetable product? * Came the metallic reply. From around the corner came the sounds of scolding and an indignant reply. This was getting surreal. Curtis peered into the rumpled paper bag that the floating head had clutched in a hand that seemed to telescope out from one of it's ears. Inside was a small lump of mouldy sweets.
"Er, no thanks. So, how do you know the Doctor? And which one is this?"
* Doctor? I know no such individual. Are you broken and in need of assistance? Is this the cause of the musty smell? * Curtis decided to let that go; after all, it had been a long and rather hot day.
"This isn't the Doctor? Then who...? Oh no, not the Master!"
* Master? Doctor? Do you like people with titles? Have you a title and wish to compare it with these people? Do they have a musty smell? * The volume of the argument from around the corner increased. Then there was a muffled thump and a yelp of pain. Blanche walked smugly towards them.
"Wotcha, mate. I'm Blanche and this," she indicated the head, " is Cre'at. He's a sort of balloon. "
* I am a Sot'm. I am not a balloon, Blanche. *
"Well, I'm pleased to meet the two of you. Who's the eighties reject?"
"I heard that, human!" Macfadyan walked from around the corner, limping slightly. "I am Lord Macfadyanagogobibblebibblelungbarrowmas. That's two bibbles and one s."
"And you're a Time Lord, yes?" Macfadyan looked slightly surprised.
"Yes, I am. How did you know that?"
"We aren't without our sources. Your not the first Time Lord to visit us."
"Hmmf!" Macfadyan gave a grimace, like he had a bad taste in his mouth. Then:
"Well, lets be off then."
"Oh for heaven's sake, child, I would have thought that it was obvious. The scene of the taxi driver's death."
"Are you offering your help?" Curtis mentally crossed his fingers. If he could get the Time Lord's help then this thing could be sorted in short order.
"No, I'm going to sort this out because it needs sorting out, not to assist a primitive military organisation." Macfadyan sniffed derisively. With that he walked off to the Land Rover with the globe and wings of the UNIT emblem on its doors. Curtis sighed. Whoever this Lord Macfadyan was, he certainly had an attitude. Still, the help of a Time Lord would be invaluable.
It was only on the car journey to Faldouet that Curtis remembered that if a Time Lord was involved then it usually meant that the entire world was in danger.
Bright yellow tape sealed off the area around the Stones at Faldouet. A car was parked on the grass verge, driver's door open. A couple of floodlights illuminated the scene, reflecting off the metallic strips on the jackets of the Police personal left to guard the scene. Curtis showed them his UNIT pass, and then led his bizarre entourage to the chalk outlines that dotted the area around the car.
"According to the pathologist, it seemed that the cabbie exploded. Hence the various markings." Curtis explained.
"Yes, I had gathered that, Crumbly." Macfadyan crouched down to examine a particular area more closely.
"Curtis." corrected the officer.
"Mmm? What?" mumbled Macfadyan, lost in thought.
"Oh God! This is gross," complained Blanche. She shivered. "And it's bloody spooky here."
* Would you like... *
"No! That's the last thing I need."
Macfadyan walked towards the dolman. Yes. There was something here. A trace.He stumbled and put his hand out to steady himself on one of the stones...
He was standing on a bleak heath land. He couldn't move his hands; they seemed to be tied behind his back. All around him, primitive humans in animal skins chanted some mantra or other. Their leader came forward and screamed something in his face.
Unclean. Monster. Nightmare. Then strong hands pushed him onto his back atop a large flat stone. The leader raised his flint blade.
"No!" he screamed.
The blade flashed down.