Doctor Who: Mawdryn Undead by Peter Grimwade Read Free Book Online Page A

that the breathing of the injured creature on the floor had become stronger and more regular. No one saw the body stir, a bloodshot eye open and gaze covetously at the TARDIS console.
     
    4

The Alien in the TARDIS
    The Headmaster of Brendon School was of the firm belief that excess of leisure could only lead to an unhealthy interest in music or the reading of books for pleasure. Or worse.
    Any respite from the classroom, therefore, was likely to consist of a lecture on the Bren gun from Sergeant-Major Mobbs, a cross-country run, or a muddy session of licensed hooliganism on the rugger field. June 7th, 1977, however, was a genuine holiday.
    Clifford-Smith, Shand and Greenland Minor were on their way to the barbecue on Top Field, when what they saw as they rounded the corner by the tennis courts stopped them in their tracks. To a boy at Brendon, a woman was either one’s mother or one’s sister. (Both, if possible, to be avoided.) Consequently, the trio stared at the young lady approaching from the lake as if she was some ichthyosaurus that had just crawled out of the water.
    Tegan was so out of breath from her dash down the hill that none of the boys could make head nor tail of her story, so it was decided that Clifford-Smith should escort her to the Brigadier.
    The Brigadier was terribly upset. What must the Doctor have thought of him? He was also alarmed that such a significant episode of his past should have been blacked out. Perhaps it was connected with the other trouble? He would have to have a word with old Runicman.
    Meanwhile, he tried hard to conceal his anxiety from his one-time colleague. ‘The Doctor and the TARDIS. How could I ever forget!’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘What?’
     
    ‘The mental block. There must be some reason, some trauma...’
    ‘The Brigadier felt his hackles rising. The Doctor was starting to sound like one of those confounded shrinks.
    ‘Some shocking experience. Maybe an induced effect?’
    The Brigadier’s lip curled. ‘I don’t scare quickly, Doctor. Nor do I succumb easily to brainwashing techniques.’
    The Doctor ignored the unaccustomed bitterness in the Brigadier’s voice. ‘If there was a way of tracing back how far the inhibition goes, you could get some treatment...’
    Had the Doctor dropped a match in the petrol tank of the old Humber there would not have been a more violent explosion.
    ‘Treatment!’ roared the Brigadier. ‘Treatment!’ He spat the hated word out in disgust. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Doctor!’
    ‘Well, no...’ stammered the Doctor, quite taken aback.
    ‘A1, always have been!’ barked the Brigadier with an intensity that suggested he was trying to communicate with someone on the other side of the lake.
    ‘Absolutely.’
    The Brigadier’s face twisted with suspicion. ‘I suppose you’ve been talking behind my back with Doctor Runciman?’
    ‘Brigadier...’
    ‘There’s loyalty for you!’ the Brigadier ranted on. ‘Well, I’m not taking my leave at the funny farm. Nothing wrong, I tell you. Fit as a fiddle. Always have been!’
    The Doctor was deeply affected by his friend’s distress and determined to root out the cause of his debilitating paranoia.
    The Brigadier noticed the Doctor staring at him. He heard his own angry voice as if belonged to another person.
    He started his deep breathing exercises.
    As swiftly as it had begun, the storm was over.
    ‘Sorry about that, Doctor. Had a bit of bother a while back. Overwork, you know. Doctor Runciman called it a nervous breakdown.’
    The Doctor nodded sympathetically.
    ‘Breakdown?’ The Brigadier laughed to hide his embarrassment. ‘Don’t know the meaning of the word.
    This one goes on till he drops!’
    The Brigadier relaxed. He sipped his tea and began to tell the Doctor something of what had happened to himself in the seven years since he had left UNIT. ‘Could have retired on my pension. Grown vegetable marrows and died of boredom in a twelve-month. But then this job