Doctor Whom or ET Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Parodication Read Online Free PDF Page A

Henry Sthree, one of the Middlesex Sthrees. They moved to Surrey. I didn’t catch your name, I’m afraid?’
    ‘I’m called Whom,’ said the Dr.
    ‘Now that is an interesting surname!’ said the Commodore, clearly impressed. ‘Very distinctive! And your friends?’
    ‘This is Miss Trout. And this young man is Prose Tailor.’
    The Commodore turned to face me. ‘Any relation of Pinny Tailor?’ he asked.
    ‘Um,’ I said.
    The Commodore seemed to take this as a yes. ‘Pinny Tailor! The old donkey! How is he? Still Secretary of State for Imperial Affairs?’
    ‘I wonder, Commodore,’ the Dr put in, ‘if you could tell me a little about these ghosts supposedly haunting your secret ice-built Habakkuk-project ship. You see, I’m here on a . . . um, government mission to undertake certain . . . secret activities, for the secret services of . . . you know. Government stuff.’
    ‘Government mission?’ repeated the Commodore.
    ‘We were dropped onto the ship by, er, hot-air balloon,’ said the Dr. ‘That’s how we’ve suddenly appeared, as if by the magic of matter-transference and rematerialisation, on your ship in the middle of the ocean, without any advance warning. I mean, obviously we haven’t appeared by matter-transference. That would be silly. It’s most definitely, you know. Balloons.’
    ‘I assumed it would be something like that,’ said the Commodore.
    ‘Anyway, I was wondering about these apparitions. I’ve a suspicion that they might have a part to play in the ... mission of which I was speaking. Did you say they were silver men?’
    ‘They’ve practically over-run the ship,’ said the Commodore. ‘The Captain has been down on the lower decks fighting them off. Haven’t you, Antenealle? Down there with all your men?’
    ‘They’re all dead,’ said the Captain. ‘I’m sorry to say. Every last man-jack marine of them. Is there any tea? I’m parching for a cup.’
    ‘ Oh dear,’ said the Commodore. ‘ All of them?’
    ‘Young Witherspoon was twitching a little when I left,’ said Antenealle, filling a tin mug from a large brass urn. ‘But I daresay he’s a goner now. What with the size of the wound in his head. And also the three missing . . ..’ The Captain paused to slurp his tea and go ‘ahhh!,’ before concluding, ‘limbs.’
    ‘ Oh dear,’ said the Commodore again. ‘So, with all the able seamen gone too, that leaves . . .?’
    ‘Just us three,’ said Antenealle. ‘And, of course, our new friends.’
    ‘Ah well,’ said the Commodore. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to do our best.’
    ‘They’re all dead ?’ cried Linn in a horrified tone.
    ‘Hmm’ said the Captain.
    ‘How can you be so extraordinarily blasé,’ Linn demanded, ‘in the face of such terrible loss of life?’
    ‘Stiff upper lip,’ said the Commodore. ‘Or do I mean swift upper lip? I always get those confused.’
    ‘Swift upper cut , I think it is, Commodore,’ said Antenealle, taking another slurp of tea.
    There was a distant explosion: muffled but unmistakeable. The ship shuddered. I could not contain a little yelp of terror.
    ‘Don’t worry ma’am,’ said Antenealle, without looking at me. ‘Those explosions might be worrying on a regular ship, but, you see, a Habakkuk-line vessel is literally unsinkable.’
    ‘Oh the Icetanic is quite unsinkable,’ agreed the Commodore. ‘It’s a miracle of modern design.’
    ‘Perfectly unsinkable,’ agreed the Captain. ‘Can’t be sunk.’
    ‘No sinkee-sinkee,’ declared the Commodore.
    ‘Everything can happen except the kitchen sinking. By kitchen I mean the galley. And all the other parts of the ship too. None of them can sink.’
    ‘So we’ve nothing to worry about then!’ exclaimed the Dr, cheerfully.
    ‘Well, there is one tiny little worry,’ admitted the Commodore. ‘My slight worry has to do with these silver men, the ones who’ve now slaughtered the entire crew and whom are now marching about shooting and blowing