"Great scott, Miss Wildthyme, that was a close call, what?"
Colonel Trubshawe, acting CO of UNIT, leaned back in his chair and mopped his brow with his handkerchief with relief. Sitting cross-legged opposite him was a young woman with long blonde hair brushing downy feathers from her sequinned purple catsuit.
"Indeed so, Colonel. Bet you've never had a first day in a new job quite like this, eh?"
"Oh, rather! Giant man-eating penguins... you know, they warned me UNIT was a rum sort of outfit, but frankly..."
"Ah," said Iris sagely, reaching into her catsuit for her pipe and tobacco pouch. "Stick around, Colonel. You ain't seen nothing yet!" She carefully filled the bowl of her pipe and held up the pouch. "Shag?"
He waved it aside. "No thank you, trying to give it up. Doctor's orders, you know."
"Ah," said Iris. "He told me to give it up too, but I find it quite relaxing. Especially after a hard day's life or death struggle against marauding alien whatevers." She struck a match against the side of the chair and lit the tobacco. "I also enjoy a good smoke too."
Trubshawe shifted uncomfortably. "Quite. Would you, er, care for an ashtray?"
"Well, the TARDIS is full of them as it is, but if you're offering, I can always find room for another."
Trubshawe frowned. "I meant for now. Not a gift, you know."
Iris looked a little deflated. "Oh! Oh..." She took the small ceramic dish the Colonel offered and studied it carefully. " 'Property of HM Prison Stangmoor'. Naughty Alistair!" She tucked the ashtray inside her suit, oblivious to the Colonel's disapproving glare. "Where is he, by the way? He'll be so cross he missed the penguins."
"Geneva."
"Grubbing for pennies, eh?"
"No, advising the Security Council on extraterrestrial encounters."
Iris puffed out a cloud of green smoke. "Well, I hope he does a better job than in Washington. Made an awful mess of the slide show. Fascinating though UNIT Christmas pantos are, I'm quite sure the CIA weren't terribly interested in our production of 'Mother Goose'." Iris beamed. "Though if I say so myself, I made a pretty good Goose, don't you think? Pity about Sergeant Osgood's false teeth though. Did they ever find them?"
Trubshawe looked baffled. "I've really no idea. I'm sure he won't make the same mistake though. Dependable chap."
Iris gave him a sideways look. "Sergeant Osgood?"
"No, no... the Brigadier."
"Are you saying Sergeant Osgood isn't dependable? Oh dear..." Iris frowned. "I gave him my Mickey Mouse alarm clock to mend."
Trubshawe cleared his throat. "I'm sure he's a solid fellow... now, going back to the penguins..."
"Ah yes, the penguins... don't worry, I've made sure they're all tucked away in the high security wing at Chessington Zoo."
Trubshawe raised his eyebrows. "Has Chessington got a high security wing?"
Iris gazed at him levelly. "It has now."
"Will they be safe there? I mean, eight foot penguins with laser beam eyes..."
"Oh, quite safe, especially after we fitted the blindfolds. They don't like them much, because they tend to make them fall over things, but it'll do until I can get onto the Intergalactic Veterinary Service to come and remove the lens implants. And regular doses of hormones will reduce them back to their regular size." Iris paused. "Unless you want them to remain eight feet tall. The tourists would love 'em!"
Trubshawe blanched at the thought. "No, no... I think they should be returned to normal. Don't want 'em frightening people, y'know."
Iris giggled. "I thought they were cute!"
"I didn't," grumbled Trubshawe, rubbing the top of his head reflectively.
"Oh yes, I forgot about your hat... mind you, a couple of centimetres lower, and I'd be talking to someone else!"
Trubshawe shuddered. "Quite."
"You're lucky that penguins make such terrible shots... now, if the Rani had gone for, say, chickens..."
"Chickens?"
"Oh yes... think about it. Chickens have more motivation than penguins."
Trubshawe frowned. "How's that?"
"Well, chickens and man aren't exactly bosom-buddies now, are you? I mean, when was the last time you had roast penguin for Sunday lunch?"
"Ah, yes... I see your point."
"No, penguins don't feel the same animosity towards man, except possibly to Eskimos, and Johnny Morris. No, they're more offended by the way they're always portrayed as comedic figures. You know, falling over backwards when planes fly over. To say nothing of those chocolate biscuit ads."
"They resent that?"
Iris gaped at him. "Wouldn't you?"
Trubshawe blinked, then shook his head. "Twenty seven years in the army, and now this... fantastic, absolutely fantastic!"
Iris gave him a glittering smile. "It is rather fun, isn't it?"
Trubshawe frowned. "That's not what I meant... now, this Rani woman... who the devil was she?"
Iris winced and fiddled awkwardly with her pipe. "Oh, just an old school chum gone bad..."
"School chum?"
"Well, technically. I was in the class a decade or so below her, but we used to hang around the same perigosto stick sheds together... for a while, anyway."
Trubshawe didn't know what she was talking about, but knew enough not to enquire further. "Be that as it may, the woman is obviously mad."
Iris considered. "Well, I'd have said she was more browned-off than mad, but she was pretty livid when I packed her off on her way."
"I meant insane, not angry."
"Insane?" Iris frowned. "No, that's the Master. The Rani is simply, well, a bit twisted."
"In my book, creating giant man-eating penguins is insane! Barking mad, in fact."
Iris jabbed her pipe at the Colonel. "Ah yes, but that was how we got her! Breeding specifically man-eating penguins - not woman-eating penguins, do you see?" Iris tapped her nose. "But then, she was expecting to be faced by your other scientific advisor - and he's all man," she winked, then paused. "Or at least he was before he regenerated."
Trubshawe shook his head. "Bit of a faux-pas, wasn't it? Creatures that don't attack women?"
"Not really. If she'd bred them to eat women as well, they'd have chomped on her. Rather obvious. Besides, the Rani foolishly assumed that, this being England, she wouldn't have been faced by any female soldiers. Luckily for us, UNIT had a few on its staff, and I was able to lead a crack assault team into the Rani's lair, and thus save the Queen of England!" Iris punched the air triumphantly
"That wasn't the Queen, that was Princess Margaret. And why would she want to clone her?"
Iris looked uncomfortable. "It pains me to say this, but... I'll explain later."
Trubshawe frowned. He'd heard that before. "About your crack assault team..."
"Corporals Bell and Craggs and Private Nethercott. Great gals!"
"A communications clerk, the base cook, and my secretary."
Iris sniffed. "Did the job, didn't they? Though I'd have to say, Corporal Craggs is deadlier with her suet pudding than with a rifle. And I don't think Nethercott thought much of shooting penguins. Eight foot tall and laser shooting or not."
"I know." Trubshawe indicated to a letter on her desk. "She's already put in for a transfer. She asked for somewhere quieter, like Belfast."
"The SAS, more like. That's a girl who really knows her way round a LAWS rocket!" Iris whistled in admiration. "The Rani's Ogron guards never knew what hit 'em..."
"Bloody good typist too," sighed Trubshawe. "Oh well..."
Iris leaned across and tapped her pipe out into the bowl of paperclips on the desk, much to the Colonel's disgust. "Anyway, we sent the Rani packing, and I don't think she'll be visiting this time period again in a hurry. Though you might want to warn your temporal agents to keep an eye out some time in the early 19th century... seemed to have a lot of books on the Industrial Revolution on her shelves."
Trubshawe looked bewildered. "Temporal agents?"
Iris sighed. "Oh yes, of course... the UNIT budget still doesn't stretch to time travel research, does it? Look here..." she pulled a plastic card from a pocket and tossed it to the Colonel. "Give this chap a call. He'll sort you out with a decent second-hand job."
Trubshawe eyed the writing on the card warily. "Drax, Drax and Drax, Incorporated?"
"Personal friend of mine. Went to school together, you know. Well, for a while, until he got caught stealing the gyros off the Head Prefects perigosto stick. Silly boy. Still, a three-decade suspension was a bit harsh. Oh well." Iris stood up and held out a hand. "Nice to have met you Colonel, but I simply must dash. There's a planet in Andromeda that needs saving from a horde of time-travelling flesh-eating zombie tax inspectors from the Ninth Dimension."
Trubshawe shook his hand slowly. "Ninth Dimension?"
Iris shrugged. "Could be Seventh, actually. I loose track, inter-dimensional property market being what it is." She gave him a snappy salute and grinned. "Chin chin! Give my regards to Alistair when he comes back."
"Er, yes... goodbye, Miss Wildthyme. And thanks for your help. I think," he muttered to himself.
"No bother!" she called over her shoulder as she crossed to the door. She paused on the threshold. "And do remember not to overfeed the penguins... you want them smaller, not bigger, right?"
"Er, right..."
"Ta ra," she chirped, and vanished through the door.
Trubshawe gazed after her for a while, scratching his head. Then he pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Sergeant, if there are no other problems involving giant man-eating penguins or mad lady scientists, I'm going to my club for the evening. I think I need a drink. Call my driver, will you?"
The Sergeant's voice crackled back. "Yes sir. Er, actually sir, a gentleman has just arrived to see you."
Trubshawe stood hastily up and started gathering his belongings. "I'm not here!"
"Yes sir, but..."
The voice clicked off abruptly and an alarming figure suddenly burst though the door. It was tall and goggle-eyed with a floppy hat jammed down across a mass of curly brown hair. An unfeasibly long scarf trailed in its wake. Trubshawe recognised him at once and his heart sank. The man flung himself into the chair Iris had vacated, flung his feet up onto the desk and glared at him gravely for a moment before booming: "You're not Alistair. Where is he?"
"Geneva," sighed Trubshawe, sinking into his chair wearily.
The man looked outraged. "Geneva? With his planet in mortal peril?" he suddenly broke into a huge grin. "But I'm sure you're a most excellent substitute!" He dropped his feet from the desk with a loud thump and leaned forward urgently. "Tell me, Colonel... have you ever heard of the Fishmen of Kandalinga?"
Trubshawe groaned inwardly and pressed the intercom button again. "Sergeant, tell my driver to stand down again." He glared at the man opposite. "I think I'm going to be here a while..."
