Doctor Who

There's still no word from inside Downing Street. . .

.though we are getting even more new arrivals.

We are the Slitheen.

Reduce the Earth to molten slag, then sell it.

Leave this planet or I'll stop you.

The world is in your hands.

I've checked the figures, I've checked them again and again.

Always the same result.

The design is not safe. It could result in the death of millions.

I beg of you, stop the project right now before it's too late.

Well. . .goodness me.

Obviously, Mr Cleaver, you're the expert.

Then you'll stop it?

It seems I have no choice.

Oh. . . Do excuse me.

Civic duties leave little time for a sandwich.

But you promise you'll stop it today?

Well, of course.

Nothing is more important than human life.

What do you take me for, some sort of maniac?

Why, no.

Am I right in thinking you've shown your results only to me?

Just to you, no-one else.

Wise move.

This is such a weight off my mind.

I've barely slept. I couldn't believe my own readings.

The scale of it. . .

Destruction like the British Isles has never seen before.

If I didn't know better, I'd almost think that someone wanted this project to go wrong,

as though they intended this city should be wiped off the map.

Thank goodness we've got you, our esteemed leader.

Who the hell are you? What do you mean, who the hell am I?

Who the hell are you? Captain Jack Harkness. Get out of my way!

Don't tell me, this must be Mickey.

Here comes trouble! How are you doing, Ricky boy? It's Mickey!

Don't listen to him, he's winding you up. You look fantastic.

Aw, sweet! How come I never get any of that? Buy me a drink first. You're such hard work. But worth it!

Did you manage to find it?

There you go. I can go anywhere now!

You don't need a passport. It's all very well going to Platform One in Justicia and the Glass Pyramid,

but what if we end up in Brazil? I might need it. You see, I'm prepared for anything.

It sounds like you're staying, then.

So what are you doing in Cardiff? And who the hell's Jumping Jack Flash?

I don't mind you hanging out with Big Ears there. . . Oi! Look in the mirror.

.but this guy, he's kinda. . . Handsome? More like cheesy.

Early 21st-century slang, is cheesy good or bad? It's bad.

But bad means good, isn't that right?

Are you saying I'm not handsome? We just stopped off, we need to refuel.

Cardiff's got a rift through the middle of the city.

It's like an earthquake fault between different dimensions. The rift was healed back in 1869.

Thanks to a girl named Gwyneth. She saved the world and closed it.

But closing a rift leaves a scar, and that scar generates energy, harmless to the human race. . .

But perfect for the Tardis. I park on top of the scar. . . Open up the engines, soak up the radiation. . .

Like filling her up with petrol, and off we go! Into time! And space!

My God, have you seen yourselves? You all think you're so clever, don't you? Yep. Yeah! Yup.

It'll take another 24 hours, so we've got time to kill.

That old lady's staring. Probably wondering what four people can do inside a small wooden box.

What are you captain of - the Innuendo Squad?

Wait, er, the Tardis, doesn't it get noticed?

Yeah, why does it look like that? It's a cloaking device.

It's called a chameleon circuit. The Tardis is meant to disguise itself wherever it lands.

I landed in the 1960s, it disguised itself as a police box, and the circuit got stuck.

There actually was police boxes?

Yeah. Before they had radios, they'd phone for help. If they arrested someone, they could put 'em inside.

Why don't you just fix the circuit? I like it, don't you? I love it.

There's no police boxes any more, so doesn't it get noticed?

Ricky, you put a mysterious blue box slap bang in the middle of town, what do people do? Walk past it.

Now stop your nagging, let's go and explore.

What's the plan? I don't know. Cardiff, early 21st century,

and the wind's coming from the. . .east. Trust me. The safest place in the universe.

This nuclear power station right in the heart of Cardiff city will bring jobs for all!

As you can see, as Lord Mayor, I've had to sanction some radical redevelopments.

No photographs! What did I say?

Take pictures of the project by all means, but not me, thank you.

So. . .

Cardiff Castle will be demolished, allowing the Blaidd Drwg Project to rise up, tall and proud,

a monument to Welsh industry.

And, yes, some of you might shiver.

The words "nuclear power station"

and "major population centre" aren't exactly the happiest of bedfellows.

But I give you my personal guarantee

that as long as I walk upon this Earth, no harm will come to any of my citizens.

Now drink up, a toast. . .

To the future! The future!

And believe me. . .

it will glow.

Excuse me, my name's Cathy Salt, I represent the Cardiff Gazette. I'm sorry, I'm not doing interviews.

But are you aware of the curse?

Whatever do you mean? Cathy, wasn't it?

Some of your engineers are saying that the Blaidd Drwg Project is cursed. Sounds rather silly to me.

That's what I thought,

but the funny thing is it does look a bit odd.

In what way? The number of deaths associated with this project -

the entire team of European safety inspectors.

They were French, and, "Danger! Explosives!" was only written in Welsh.

And the accident with the Cardiff Heritage Committee. The electrocutio of that swimming pool was accidental.

And then the architect.

It was raining, visibility was low, my car simply couldn't stop.

And then recently Mr Cleaver, the government's nuclear adviser. Slippe on an icy patch. He was decapitated.

It was a very icy patch. These stories are nothing more than typical small-town thinking. Excuse me.

Before he died, Mr Cleaver posted some of his findings online. Did he?

He was concerned about the reactor. Oh! All that technical stuff.

Specifically that the design of the suppression pool would cause the hydrogen recombiners to fail,

precipitating the collapse of the containment system, causing meltdown. You've done your homework.

That's my job.

I think. . .Cathy Salt. . .

.I think you and I should have a word in private.

Oh, my little tummy's complaining. We might have to make a detour to the ladies. I'll wait here.

Oh, come on! All girls together!

So you were saying? These outlandish theories of yours.

It sounds like we got here just in time. Continue. Well, I don't know much about nuclear physics,

but from what I could make out, Cleaver was saying the whole project could go up, worse than Chernobyl.

Is there something wrong with the lights?

Oh, they're always on the blink. I can't tell you how many memos I've sent.

So. . .Chernobyl?

Apparently, but a thousand times worse.

I mean it sounds absurd, there must be so many safety regulations,

but Cleaver seemed to be talking about a nuclear holocaust. He almost made it sound deliberate.

We're hardly The Sunday Times, we're only the Cardiff Gazette, but we do have a duty to report the facts.

And you're going to print this information? Are you all right? You sound a bit. . . Sore throat.

Ahem. Just a little tickle.

But tell me, do you intend to make this information public? I have to.

So be it.

Mind you, my boyfriend thinks I'm mad. We're getting married next month

and he says I could lose my job, just when we need the money.

Boyfriend? Jeffrey, civil servant. . .

He's nothing exciting, but he's mine. When's the wedding?

The 19th. It's really just to stop my mother from nagging, but the baby sort of clinched it.

You're with child?

Three months. It's not showing yet.

It wasn't planned, it was an accident.

Nice accident, though.

Congratulations. Thank you. How about you?

No.

Is there a Mr Blaine?

Not any more.

I'm all on my own.

I had quite a sizeable family once upon a time. Wonderful brothers. . .

Oh, they were bold!

But all of them gone now.

Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm cursed.

Oh, no, I don't think so, not really.

You're very kind.

Er. . .

If you don't mind, I might be a while.

You run along. Perhaps we could do this another day.

Are you all right? Fine!

OK, I tell you what, I'll leave my details with your office. Thanks for talking.

Thank you.

Oh. . .

Oh. . .

You're lying through your teeth!

I swear, it turns out the white things are tusks, and I mean, tusks! And it's woken and it's not happy!

How could you not know it was there? 15 of us, naked, and I'm going like, "Nothing to do with me!"

Then it roars, and we are running! Brakovitch falls, so I say. . .

I knew we should've turned left! That's my line!

I don't believe a word you say! That is so brilliant!

Did you ever get your clothes back?

No, I just picked him up and went right for the ship, full throttle. I mean I was shaking!

It was unbelievable! It freaked me out. . .

And I was having such a nice day.

According to intelligence, the target is the last surviving member of the Slitheen family,

a criminal sect from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorious, masquerading as a human being.

OK! Plan of attack, we assume a basic 57-56 strategy, covering all available exits on the ground floor.

Doctor, you go face to face, that'll designate exit 1. I'll cover exit 2. Rose, exit 3. Mickey Smith, exit 4.

Excuse me. Who's in charge?

Sorry. Awaiting orders, sir.

Right, here's the plan.

Like he said. Nice plan! Anything else? Present arms.

Ready. Ready. Ready.

Speed dial? Yep. Ready. Check. See you in hell.

Hello, I've come to see the Lord Mayor.

Have you got an appointment?

No, just an old friend, passing by, bit of a surprise. I can't wait to see her face. She'sjust having tea.

Just go in there and tell her the Doctor would like to see her.

Doctor who? Just the Doctor.

Tell her exactly that, the Doctor.

Hang on a tick.

Er, the Lord Mayor says thank you for popping by.

She'd love to have a chat but, em. . . she's up to her eyes in paperwork.

Perhaps if you could make an appointment for next week?

She's climbing out of the window, isn't she? Yes, she is.

Slitheen heading north! On my way. Over and out.

Oh, my God!

Leave the mayor alone!

Margaret!

Who's on exit 4?

That was Mickey! Here I am!

Mickey the idiot. Oh, be fair, she's not exactly gonna outrun us, is she?

She's got a teleport, that's cheating!

Oh, the Doctor's very good at teleports.

I could do this all day. This is persecution! Why can't you leave me alone? What did I ever do to you?

You tried to kill me and destroy this entire planet. Apart from that?

So you're a Slitheen, you're on Earth, you're trapped.

Your family get killed, but you teleport out.

You have no means of escape, what do you do? You build a nuclear power station, but what for?

A philanthropic gesture. I've learnt the error of my ways. And it just so happens to be on top of the rift.

What rift would that be? A rift in space and time. If this went into meltdown, the entire planet would. . .

This station is designed to explode the minute it reaches capacity.

Didn't anyone notice? Doesn't anyone in London check this stuff?