Doctor Who and the Invasion from Mars

1


Petty McCracken sat under a splendiferous blue, yellow and green sunshade on a beach in Los Angeles studying the Doctor as she sunbathed naked on the hot sand. The two other Companions, Orwell Jackaboots and Azriel Barnacle-Bimbo sat there with him.

After a time, Petty said: "Doctor. If I did not know you were a Time Lord, I would say you were a beautiful red haired human beauty of indeterminate age, but, of course, I know you're not a beautiful red haired human beauty of indeterminate age, because you're actually a Time Lord."

"And you certainly don't look eight hundred years old," Azriel offered kindly.

"Frankly, Doctor, you don't look half that age," Orwell put in, though he was barely taking any notice, what with a group of young men playing beach volleyball not fourty feet away. "Thighs," Orwell commented distractedly. "What magnificent thighs!"

"Why thank you, Orwie," the Doctor smiled. "While, as a Time Lord, I find those kinds of compliments ridiculous and uneducated, very humanly 'male', if you know what I mean, as a Time Lord in a voluptuous woman's body, I find it horribly complimentary; even though Julia Figg would never have admitted as much publicly. What? Sorry - yes she would have admitted it publicly... Oh! And Patrick Troughton says he very much enjoys the experience of inhabiting a fully female body. Tom Baker says he could not care less, the dick! You know, I don't frankly care how sexy Lala Ward was. It is of absolutely no consequence. I mean that, Tom. Oh shut your face, Tom, you smarty fart! Oh, I see! Now Colin Baker had joined in to say that I do really care. Well, you shut up too, you idiot! Ha! That's better. Blocked them out... My goodness, this sun is very hot. I'll be black in no time at all."

"Burnt like charcoal," Azriel commented. "Are you sure that's wise. Haven't you heard of skin cancer?"

"I'm a Time Lord. We don't get skin cancer."

"Don't you?" Petty asked in surprise.

"Of course not. At least, I don't think so. Though even if I do, I can always regenerate."

"How macabre that sounds," Azriel said.

"I guess if worse comes to worse," Petty said, quite brightly. "We might get a male lead again. Not saying that I secretly pine for that day, Doctor. Gee willikeins. Look how burnt your skin is getting!"

"How tricolour!" the Doctor scoffed, rather esoterically. She sat up and then said. "Ow! Shit! You're right! Quickly now, Orwie, rub lashings of your soothing sunscreen all over my body!"

"Do I have to?" Orwell complained. "Why does it always have to be me?"

Just then, Azriel exclaimed. "Sweet Lordy! Will you look at that! Up in the sky to the north. Is that a red hot cannister of large proportions hurtling earthward from the direction of the planet Mars?"

"Shit!" Petty blurted. 'You know, sometimes I hate that smartarse, Ol' Anon!"

"It is a cannister of large proportions!" Orwell squealed. "Do you think it's a Venetian Invasion. ... ... What? ... No, no.... I mean Venetians from Venus!"

"No such luck. It'll be Martians alright...." Petty grumbled droopily.

And, for the third time in his life, Petty McCracken was actually right!

Shit!" Petty blurted. 'You know, sometimes I hate that smartarse, Ol' Anon!"



{{{ So true!}}}}

just

2


"Quickly - ow ow-ow - this way, I think it landed - ow ow ow-ow - over here somewhere."

"Doctor!" Orwell suggested with child-like idealism. "Do you think it could be over there where that semi-circle of people are standing? Over where that human delegation bearing a white flag is marching peacefully forth?"

"I really should have stayed on Shoevius in that lingerie factory," Petty muttered - and he meant it.

The Doctor pushed through the crowd in the rather trendy orange and red towel she had draped around her gorgeous pulsating red body. "Let me through you stupid humans," she told them politely as she elbowed her way through.

"Oh gawd!" Petty moaned. "It is a cannister! And there is a mirror on that tall pole above it."

"You know," Orwell reflected. "This is just like something I was reading last night in the Tardis. Right down to the top of the cannister screwing slowly open. Oh dear! Run! Run away!"

And Orwell grabbed the Doctor by the hand and dragged her back through the crowd and up the beach to the five star hotel with its three hat restaurant that the Doctor insisted they stay at because she said that even Doctors needed a proper vacation every so often

Petty remained, standing with Azriel in the semi-circular crowd. "You know what's going to happen now, Azzy. The cylinder lid will fall off into the sand, then a tentacled monstrosity from Mars, though ten times smarter than humans, will fall out, and soon after all this green smoke will rise up, and then... and then... and.... then... Oh my gawd! Run, Azzy, run!"

And before long the Doctor and her three Companions were looking down out of the window of their eighteenth floor apartment at events on the beach.

"So tell me, Orwell," the Doctor asked, deep in thought. "What happened next in that book you were reading. I think it might be important."

"Well, about now, a horrible heat ray will kill about fourty humans. The Martians are a heartless race. They treat humans like we treat every other life form, the superior bastards!"

"Oh bugger!" the Doctor exclaimed.

Orwell giggled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"So, if you're reading the book, you'll know what we need to do, Orwell."

"I'm only up to Chapter Six. Anyway, even though this seems very reminiscent of that book I'm reading, I'm confident Ol' Anon means only to pay the book respect and won't continue copying things verbatim."

"I'd never count on it," the Doctor averred wisely. "And, anyway, Ol' Anon be buggered, we need to act according to circumstances as they arise anyhow... Why are you giggling, Orwell?"

"No reason really."

"Look! Orwell's prediction was right," Azriel interrupted Orwell's giggles. "About fourty people have been heat rayed, including some children and their pet rabbits!"

"I'll not stand for this!" the Doctor averred firmly. "Those Martians can go to buggery before I'll let them get away with... Why the fuck are you giggling, Orwell!?!"

"No reason," Orwell giggled.

"I think I know how this will all end," Petty offered wearily.

"Shut it, Petty. You know it's only part two. No spoilers!"

"Oh dear!" Azriel exclaimed suddenly, but her voice seemed to be coming from somewhere else and not the room they were in.

The other three spun around but Azriel had disappeared from sight.

"Well, that's a turn up for the books," Petty said hopefully.

"We can hear you but not see you, Azzy," the Doctor called. "Do you know where you are?"

"Of course, I do." Suddenly, there was the sound of rushing water, as if from a tap turned on fully. "Do you know, this jacuzzi has room for all four of us!"

3


Orwell stood at the window looking down at the Martian cannister half buried in beach sand, towelling the last of the jacuzzi froth from his hair meanwhile, and very satisfied. Petty stood beside him and every now and then they gave each other a sheepish grin; and Azriel and the Doctor were looking pretty pleased with themselves too, as they sat at a table playing chess, and giggling occasionally. The episode in the jacuzzi had certainly brought the new team together, very joiningly.

"Hey!" Petty expostulated suddenly. "I knew it! They're building tripods now. Best we make a run for it. They'll be razing this hotel to the ground in fire and smoke before we know it."

"Wouldn't that be 'at the time we know it', Petty my dear," the Doctor said affectionately, but did not look up from her game. She moved her Queen to take Azriel's Queen.

"Ooh," Azriel oohed. "It's a bit of Queen on Queen action again."

"But not in the jacuzzi this time'" the Doctor laughed.

"Queen?" Orwell added, genuinely interested. "Do you mean Quuen as in two ladies in the jacuzzi, or two men in the jacuzzi?"

"Good point," Azriel said.

But before they could pursue that very interesting direction of conversation any further, Petty expostulated again. "I'm right. We better get out of here. They're setting up their Heat Ray thingees. Come on you lot. We've gotta get out of here."

"You seem to know a lot about these Martian octopus chaps, Petty," Orwell said. "Did you read the book too?"

"Of course I fucking did!"

"Well then, Mister Testy, then you'll know how to defeat them."

"What?"

"Then you'll know how to defeat them," Orwell prodded him affectionately, having come to enjoy the handsome Scotsman in ways he had never enjoyed him before, in the jacuzzi, I mean. "Petty! Why the suddenly bemused look? You do remember how to defeat them, don't you?"

"Hey!" Petty grumped. "That bastard Ol' Anon has wiped away my memory of that! The bastard gets worse every time. Gawd I hate being one of his characters - the smartarse!"

"What if we were to go back to the Tardis and look through Orwell's copy of the book?" Azriel suggested helpfully.

"That won't work," Petty cursed roundly. "Ol' Anon has already thought of that. There's another tripod now, between us and the Tardis."

"Ol' Anon has obviously planned this story very carefully," the Doctor uttered in surprise.

"No. He's probably just made that up. He makes these stories up as he goes, I've heard," Orwell said joyfully, for he was very fond of Ol' Anon. He thought Ol' Anon's tales and poems were always funny and clever even when other folk thought otherwise, the Philistines. "But that's how his wind blows,  you know, hot, wild and sometimes with great pungency. What say we go to a book shop if the Tardis is out of reach?"

"In L.A.?" Petty said incredulously. "I didn't know they had bookshops in Airhead Vanity City?"

"Oh gawd!" Orwell gasped, frightened now. "You're right!"



To be continued....

"Google it" !

Don't you just love a good Martian Invasion.

I would like Petty to have one of those heat ray thingees fry his kilt to a crisp.

Wouldn't that mean we would all be exposed to his haggis - which I presume he keeps up there.

Being as the Scots love everything fried I wonder what good it would do to zap Petty's haggis ?? If they could fry Buckie Im sure theyde find a way.

Haggis is Coming. The Night is Dark and Full of Terrors.

Only if you look up his skirt

{{{Its not a bloody skirt!!!! }}}}

4


They had become desperate. Desperately the four comrades hurried up and down the wide boulevards of the hot baking LA, looking, for of all things, a bookshop. They were desperados, especially Azriel, who was more desperate than the others, due to desperateness; a desperateness born of desperation.

"We'll never find a bookstore in time," Petty hissed and huffed with sweat dripping from both his brow and his haggis. "We'll need to run for the hills and catch a cab to Sacramento."

"I think we better go north and catch an Eagle to Ozhobbitstan." Orwell implored them. "Ozhobbitstan is one of the safest places on earth. No ISIS, no Trumps, and no Martians!"

"Safe?" The Doctor mused. "Sydney Funnel Webs, Redback spiders, seventy thousand species of poisonous snakes, Blue Ringed  Octopuses, Box Jellyfishes, and white Pointer Sharks in every puddle, not to mention crocodiles, to name just a few! Safe!"

"Well, once you have built up an immunity..." Orwell began, but Azriel cut him off, crying out deserately, "Oh my gawd! They've got tripods now! Death wreaking tripods!"

"No we haven't," Orwell shot back. "You must mean the Martians. Ozhobbitstan has  fourtrods, for when we take over the world.. Err... Umm...I shouldn't have told you that secret..."

"Shut up, Orwie," the Doctor grumbled testily. "We're not interested in your plans for world domination; at least not until sometime down the track when Ol' Anon finally writes that exciting episode. Can't you see and hear the destruction the Martian tripods are causing all around. Duck!"

Just then two buildings collapsed, all choking smoke and fire and rubble and glass, a great tumbling catastrophe that fell on and around them.

"Quite impressive," Orwell said as he threw off a pile of concrete and dust from his body. "But just wait until you see what our fourpods can do!"

"We need to get out of LA," Petty cried as he cleared the debris from in and around his kilt. "I've got mortar up my crack. Rough dry mortar, and it's pleases me not."

"Quick! This way!" the Doctor averred, shaking off shattered glass. "We must first get out of here, then survive the destruction, and finally find a bookshop."

"Such wisdom," Azriel applauded her. "The simplest plan is often the best."

"Of course, nobody likes Moffatt and his complexity," Orwell agreed. "Ol' Anon might be a simple man, but no one really likes to see too much complication on what is ostensibly children's television."

"I do!" Petty contrared in an anguished tone.

"That'd be right," the Doctor frowned. "Anyway, let's get out of here before Trump Tower falls on us',

"In LA?" Petty winced.

"Can't you shut your trap just this once, Mister Pedantic."

"The Doctor might be right this time, you know," Orwell told Petty in a kind tone.

"This way! This way!" Azriel yelled and ran off under the Eiffel Tower, skirts flapping, just as the Louvre went up in flames behind them.

But a tripod had seen them now and it began to stalk them, a hungry Martian visage pressed against the windscreen of it's orbular cockpit, stroking it's blood siphoner with a gentle but mordant tentacle.




To be continued.....

{{Whilst I dont and wont approve a single word of this desecration, annoyingly, crabbit inducingly, I also cant seem to stop myself enjoying it immensely and pissing myself laughing almost the entire way through it, damn you to buggery Ole Anon, if I wanted to feel happy I'd have been born someone else! }}}

You must be happy now. Crabbit inducement and a genuinely creepy alien wanting to siphon out your blood! Scary, I reckon, typical Who, and not in the least plagiaristic...

"But a tripod had seen them now and it began to stalk them, a hungry Martian visage pressed against the windscreen of it's orbular cockpit, stroking it's blood siphoner with a gentle but mordant tentacle."

'You must be happy now.'- Orwell

{{Of course not!    Don't be silly But thanks to things like Ole Anon's rambling scribblings I am having to work much harder than usual at not being happy  }}}}

This is what it's all about, dear Petty. This is what it's all about.

5


"This is probably a bit obvious," Orwell squeaked manily, "but there's a tripod stalking us, and that alien cockpit driver stroke pilot is stroking his siphon ominously with a gentle tentacle!"

"Sex, sex, sex, it's all you ever think about," Azriel laughed in spite of her anxiety; and no doubt it is always good to keep your sense of humour even when you're about to have the life sucked out of you in a long sweet red stream; no one knows why.

"Quickly. We must descend into the drains," the Doctor yelled decisively. "We must live like rats for a time. Petty, you lead the way."

"Why me? What do I know about living in the sewers of a great city?"

"Agreed, Glasgow is no great city, but it is a city nonetheless," Orwell squeaked again. "Hurry up, Petty!"

Petty frowned but knew he was done. He only hoped the sewers in a great city were similar enough to those in a city that wasn't quite so great. He heaved up a manhole lid like a professional and in a nonce he had disappeared from sight; once again offended by all things Ozhobbitish, especially smarty arseholes like Orwell and Ol' Anon.

Once they were in the odiferous environs of the LA sewers, Petty hissed, "This place has a strange gangrel atmosphere. Chocolate? Sniff sniff... Caviar... Sniff sniff sniff... Cocaine... And not one whiff of haggis or Buckie gases..."

"You've got a wonderful nose," Orwell congratulated him. "All I can smell is shit and piss."

"That's because you are a man of the desert and eucalyptus brush-lands," Petty said wisely. "A man who eats emu, cocatoo and tiger snake, while co-evolving - some say procreating - with the kangaroo. While I lived all of my youth in the caves and tunnels of the municipality of a reasonably great city, learning the language of the cat, hunting the rat for sustenance, and occasionally for more desperate purposes in the lonely times; adjusting eyesight to the dark, and growing films in the nostrils to cope with the odious sewers of the Tories..."

"A most  interesting soliliquy, but we best move on, Petty" the Doctor said, her voice sounding a bit odd because she was firmly squeezing her nostrils against the stench. "We are under Trump tower, I think, but I thought his shit didn't stink!"

"Yeah," Orwell put in. "I heard the sun shines out of his arse too!"

"Who said that?" Azriel was keen to know.

"Well, at least he acts like his shit don't stink and the sun shines out his arse," Orwell said confidently, as he knew all about those kinds of things.

"Anyway, let's move on," the Doctor said authoritively. "Petty, lead us to the South side of town. Ol' Anon hopes there's a bookshop there!"

"Quiet!" Petty hissed suddenly. "Look! Up that side tunnel, beneath that road grill. I can see them in it's indirect hot LA sunshine!"

"What do your Scot's eyes see!" Orwell gasped.

"Oh fuck!" Petty cussed. "It's fucking Morlocks!"

The others couldn't see it in the darkness, but Orwell's face had drawn white. "This has all gone from bad to worse!" he gasped.

"You're fucking right there," Petty grumbled.



To be continued....

"What do your Scot's eyes see!" Orwell gasped.

Dunno but they can spot a 10% Buckie discount at 100 paces. if not further.

I think when it comes to Buckie, Petty's eyes can see a lot further than Orlando Bloom-Legolas eyes can see!