The Doctor And The Tinpan, Stephen Hawkins [i like reading TXT] 📗

are rather similar to putting your hand into a pan of frying fat -- acutely painful. Now, stand back!"

"Okay, okay! Keep your breeches - " Red never got the on out. The word got stuck in his craw as he stared gaping at the shock treatment. Three times he saw a dead man fly -- Doc Holliday's body lifting off the table. Red hoped it would end soon, but hell no...

"Adrenaline," the Time Lord said aloud. "It's a cardiac stimulant. I'll need to inject intravenously -- straight into the heart."

Seeing a long, dripping needle. "Holy shit - " Red felt faint.

***

With the flickering oil-lamp doused, Wyatt lay in bed thinking...

Where the damn did they take the Doc? He couldn't figure it out. Gotta be somewhere. Can't just disappear off the face of creation... Wyatt shook his head. I should have looked some more.

From all his thinking, Wyatt kept meeting with dead ends and slowly, tiredness got the better of him until, at the door of sleep, his thoughts sounded like someone else talking in his head. Memories of another time and place... Wyatt could hear glass shattering as a hail of bullets pinged around him.

Gonna catch a death... Doc? Busting through the doors, pistols blazing. Texan cattlemen dropping like flies. Never saw anything like it.

As his sub-conscious thoughts ran free, Wyatt recalled the Doc had been on the run from a killing. Gave him protection for saving my life... Killing, hell. Wyatt smiled through his shuttered eyes.

You ain't too hard to find, Doc. You leave dead men wherever you go. Yeah, I said that... In his mind's eye, Wyatt remembered. It was after the Doc had killed three men in Santa Fe over a gambling spat.

They drew on me first, the Doc claimed. That as maybes, but then, you know he said something that I never forgot. Why is everyone so eager to die? he said. Ain't life worth living none? I surely would if I had the choice. Yeah, with his lungs being shot 'an all, the Doc's time was short. But whatever folk said about him, he had a good heart. He wouldn't let me down.

Wyatt had a few flashbacks of their move to Tombstone. Virgil was going to head up the law. Morgan and he -- Wyatt -- would be his Deputies.

We're heading north, Doc, Wyatt remembered saying his friend. Come along if you want. Likes as not, we'll be pulling some teeth.

Why, thank you, sir. I'm right obliged, the Doc said.Pulling teeth? Yes... The Clantons and McLaurys. As Confederate Cowboys, they were none too fond of us being Union men. And with the Doc being a Confederate. Well, when he sided with us, they saw him as a traitor to the Southern flag. That's what started the bad blood...

As he rolled over, Wyatt nestled against his woman. Even in his sub-conscious, her flimsy camisole enticed his hands to reach out and stroke over her undulating curves. He loved Josie Marcus. A showgirl by profession, she had many admirers, including notably, the Sheriff, Johnny Behan.

Although he was a weak lawman, Johnny Behan had political savvy, and he’d cosied up to the Clantons and McLaurys. As it suited them to have a sheriff in their pocket, they bankrolled him. In return, he turned a blind eye on their shady business dealings. So when Prima County was partitioned off and Tombstone became part of the new Cochise County, they supported his election for Sheriff. Wyatt had also been up for the job, and he had support from around town.

Seeing Wyatt as a threat, Johnny had gotten real smart and struck a deal with him. He said that if Wyatt stood down, he would appoint Wyatt as an Under Sheriff. The idea being that Wyatt would enforce the law whilst he, Johnny did the paper work. They would split the salary. At $40000 per year, that was a princely sum. But after Johnny was elected, he reneged on the deal. He appointed someone else as the under sheriff. Wyatt never forgave Johnny for double-crossing him like that.


***

In the control room of the TARDIS, John Henry Holliday lay slumped on a rotating oval pod. Although unconscious, he was alive.

As the Time Lord withdrew the hypodermic needle from the man's arm, he thought the sedative would keep him asleep for a while.

"He will fight another day, Mister Culpepper. At least the one he must."

"Uh?" As Red wheeled around in a pod of his own, he wanted to know. "Why the hell are we dragging him all over creation?"

"If you mean, why have we brought him to the control room? Well, it's because I need to set the co-ordinates so we can transport back to where we found him. In the circumstances, we should stay close together. I don't want to leave any body parts behind."

Red wasn't listening. "Look here mister, I'm plumb tuckered out. You can keep your gold. I ain't wanting it none. Just let me off this ship or whatever the hell you call it. You go your way, and I'll go mine. Can't be fairer than that, huh? What d'ya say?"

Although he had been warned not to touch anything, Red forgot and he leaned on the main console. As he did so, he "accidentally" hit the actuator on the time module. 2020, being the year the Doctor had planned to return after he had completed his mission in 1881.

"Imbecile-! What have you done-?!" the Doctor yelled.

Red didn't know, but everything had begun spinning, and he could hear this screaming like a herd of stampeding cattle as a big flashing tube pumped up and down.

***

BILLY JOE CLANTON

In the President's nuclear bunker, a chubby, middle-aged man with beady, pea-green eyes, and an immaculately groomed head of platinum colored hair sat behind his oak desk. He had his battle-dress on: Stetson, bomber-jacket, denims and cowboy boots. And as he puffed on a huge Havana cigar -- the Commander-In-Chief of the American Armed forces -- namely the President, Billy Joe Clanton pondered the hawkish features of a uniformed figure: a peak-capped General pacing around the ornately furnished bunker room.

It was his close friend, General Frew McLaury, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They went a long way back. Clanton blew some smoke-rings airwards...

"So what's on your mind, Frew boy?" he drawled.

"Well, I was wondering if you were aiming to order a retaliatory strike, Mister President," McLaury replied.

"No, I'm aiming to order a pre-emptive strike," Clanton said. "The world ain't big enough for two super-powers, and so Li Wang and his Chinese Republic is going down." Then Clanton thought to add: "Of course, I would have preferred a political settlement, but those Commie shites have been fucking with us for too long now."

His face turned a bottled red as his anger soared. "If Wang reckons targeting our cities with his missiles is gonna scare me, he don't know nuthin' about Billy Joe Clanton."

"That's fighting talk, Mister President."

"Damn right it is, Frew. I mean, I' m a reasonable man. Sure, I know the Arab oil' s dried up, an' we gotta pay the going rate, but Wang's putting a noose around our neck. He's bleeding us dry. If we don't act now and show him who's top-dog, the whole darn world's gonna be stir fry."

"You bet," McLaury replied. "Just one thing though. There's gonna be casualties, Mister President. We won't be able to stymie all their incoming missiles."

Clanton sighed. "I know that Frew. And I am deeply saddened to know that American lives must be sacrificed for the common good. But we need to get our hands on that Commie crude. If it means the world's gotta go into hibernation for a while, then what the hell? It's pay-back time, Frew. You with me on this?"

McLaury straightened up to salute. "Yes, sir! All the way!" But then, he had a thought. "What about a news release?"

Clanton shrugged. "Right. Well, we all know China's a damn terrorist resort. The shites dump their dirty bombs abroad, and while people are dying from the hot water, their killers are sunning themselves on Wang's beaches eating lychees." He went on...

"Okay, so they ain't dropped any nuclear confetti on us just yet," he said. "But let's say they have, 'kay? New York, that's a site the Commies will nuke anyway. So yeah, I stand corrected, Frew boy. We're going for a retaliatory strike."

McLaury nodded. "You wanna call in the football?"

Football? Billy Joe thought Frew meant there was a game on TV.

"Uh? The Redskins playing today?"

"No, Mister President. I mean the football ." Frew nodded back at the door. "It's with our man outside."

Billy Joe was a little slow to catch on, but then he did. The football was a briefcase that contained the release codes that he, the president, could transmit to the launch sites. And the quarterback -- a military officer -- was holding the football outside in the ante-room.

Clanton puffed on his Havana. "Hell, why didn't you say so? Sure, call him in. Let's get it on."

***

In the TARDIS, Doc Holliday lay slumped in the pod-like chair. He was almost a forgotten man as the Time Lord stood over the main console. In activating the plasma screen, he wanted to see what was going on outside.

Red Culpepper groaned as he giddily found his legs and stood up. What with all the spinning and all, he felt like he'd been treading the gin mill.

"I've been dreaming, right?"

"No, Mister Culpepper, I'm afraid not," the Time Lord replied.

"Dang..." Him again. Red rolled his eyes. "Why is this happening to me?"

The Time Lord sighed. "It's happening because -- being the imbecile you are -- you brought us to the year 2020 before I had intended."

Imbecile? Is he being nice, now? Red had no idea. He'd never heard of the word before. "Look, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, mister. Just let me get my mule, and I won't bother you no more."

The Time Lord grimaced. "I wish it were that simple, Mr. Culpepper. Here, take a look. You are seeing the world as it is in the year 2020."

"Uh?" Red's eyes boggled as he saw a picture appear on the wall. "Hell, what's that?" he asked. "Looks like some damn mushroom cloud. Ain't seen one of them before."

"No, Mister Culpepper. And you don't want to see one. For if you do, it will be the last thing you ever see," the Time Lord replied.

"You're scaring me, mister," Red said.

The Time Lord smiled to say: "Take heart. The calamity that would befall the world will only happen if our guest - " He looked toward the hapless Doc Holliday - "Is not returned to his bed... alive."

It was way over what Red could figure out, but there was something in the stranger's words that put him at ease.

"Whatever you say, mister. Now can we go back? I feel out of place here."

The Time Lord laughed. "Believe me, you're not the only one."

***

A few hours later...

In only his underpants, Doc Holliday lay on the bed.