"Welcome aboard British Airways Flight 35, non-stop service from Cincinnati, Ohio, to London, England. This is your captain, Andrew Whitly, speaking. Our flight today will be about seven hours and twenty-five minutes in duration. We will be landing at London Heathrow Airport at approximately 7:05 local time. This evening's film is 'Four Weddings and a Funeral.' If there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable during your flight, please don't hesitate to contact one of the cabin attendants. Now, while we taxi into the takeoff queue, our flight attendants will conduct a brief demonstration of the safety features of our Boeing 747 aircraft. Please pay close attention. Thank you for choosing British Airways."
Miriam tagged him as a potential problem before he was settled in his seat. It wasn't that he was surly or uncooperative, to the contrary, he seemed almost eager to please. He was a tall, slender man in his 30s with blonde hair cut just a bit longer than was fashionable and intense blue eyes.
Derrick and Judith -- who checked the passengers' travel documents as they boarded -- commented on his unusual passport: a temporary, seldom seen unless the holder had been robbed or otherwise lost his documents while abroad. To make it more unusual, this passport has been issued by the United Nations. Nobody in the cabin crew had seen one of those before, so he'd been delayed in boarding the plane as his documents were passed around to give everyone a look -- all under the guise of checking for irregularities, of course.
He had borne the extra scrutiny with equanimity, and Miriam gave him credit for that. However, there was an air of unease about him. He seemed completely unfamiliar with boarding procedures and he had no luggage -- not just no hand luggage -- no luggage at all.
When he got to his seat, he spent several minutes carefully examining the safety procedures card, looking around nervously to identify the emergency exits, then looking up over his head to contemplate the panels that would open to reveal oxygen masks in event of loss of cabin pressure. Passengers seldom paid that much attention to the safety card -- unless they had never flown before or were anxious about flying.
He was seated in the center section in tourist class; none too comfortable with the restricted leg room. An elderly German man with a smoker's cough was to his left, and a three-year-old girl travelling with her mother was in the seat to his right.
Miriam leaned over the German and gave Dr. John Smith, as his passport had identified him, her most reassuring and professional smile. After five years as a flight attendant -- mostly on transatlantic flights -- she had a sixth sense for identifying the passengers that needed a bit of hand-holding.
"Would you like to take off your coat, sir?" she said sweetly. "The cabin is quite warm, and if I hang it up front, it won't get wrinkled during the flight."
At first, he seemed distressed at the ideal of giving up his coat. But on second thought, he seemed to realize that he was acting strangely, and sighed as he squirmed out of the garment and handed it to her.
Miriam thought it odd that when she watched him board, she never gave a thought to his clothing, which was unfashionable to say the least. The coat in her hand was beige with orange piping around the lapels and pockets, and much longer than a sport coat. The tails were full, flared almost like a skirt, and there were no labels of any kind inside. There was a sprig of celery pinned to the lapel. The pockets were lumpy, but she quelled the impulse to go through them and see what he was carrying. He'd passed through security, after all, so it was unlikely that his pockets contained anything dangerous.
Miriam's cabin duties kept her from observing the mysterious Dr. Smith any further for nearly an hour. She was taking the drinks cart through the cabin when she noticed him again. He still looked ill at ease. His knees, in striped trousers, were firmly jammed against the seat back ahead. He hands were folded in his lap, but he was glancing around the cabin furtively and listening to every sound the aircraft made, as if he was worried that any moment a wing would fall off or the plane would begin a dive into the sea.
The man to his left tapped him on the arm and asked him a question in German. He answered without hesitating in the man's native language. Dr. Smith's own accent was pure, well-educated British, without a trace of regionalism. Miriam, herself from Newcastle, had put a great deal of effort into losing her Northern burr. She knew the sound of a trained accent and was wondering whether this passenger served the U.N. as a linguist.
She smiled and asked him what he'd like to drink.
"Orange juice, please."
"Your first flight?" she asked as she filled the plastic tumbler.
"I've been on many aircraft," he said uneasily, "but you're partially right. This is my first commercial flight. I don't usually travel as a passenger."
She handed the orange juice across to him. "I can assure you there's nothing to worry about. The 747 has one of the best safety records in the industry. And our pilot and flight crew are highly experienced."
"Oh, I'm certain you're right," he said with a disarming smile. "It's just disconcerting not to be driving, so to speak."
Miriam served the other passengers in the row and pushed the cart on.
Some time later, after dinner had been served and the movie was in progress, Miriam passed through the cabin and checked on her "special" passenger again.
The mother had dozed off. The little girl was playing with a Laa-Laa Teletubby doll, walking it across the arm of her seat, periodically stopping to trill, "What dat? What dat?" The German's head was tilted back and his mouth gaped open. Miriam thought that if it weren't for the steady roar of the jet engines, they would be listening to a deep and sonorous snore.
Dr. Smith was still glancing around the cabin, his blue eyes wide and worried.
The little girl bopped him on the arm with the fuzzy yellow doll and trilled, "Eh-oh!"
Dr. Smith turned to the child and smiled broadly.
"May I see?" He took the doll and examined it. He stood it on the armrest, and in a surprisingly accurate falsetto imitation of the television character said, "Now is the winter of our discontent."
He chuckled, then shook his head. "No, that's not right. Laa-Laa would never play Lear. Let me see ... Out, out damned spot," he continued. "Will all the perfumes of Arabia wash these hands clean?"
The child looked confused.
"Hmm, still not really Laa-Laa's style, is it?" He winked at his young companion. He twisted a little to get access to his trouser pocket. Out came a Beanie Baby -- Britannia Bear, to be exact. Miriam has seen one like it in a shop window in London for £200. She was surprised to see him produce it from a pocket that had been showing no visible bulge, and to think that he had been carrying something that valuable stuffed in a pocket.
"I think Laa-Laa must be lonely, don't you? I think she needs a friend." He set the bear on the seat arm next to the Teletubby doll. "Big hug!" he said, imitating Laa-Laa again.
The child giggled appreciatively.
Miriam moved on, glad her "problem" passenger had found something to distract him.
They were about halfway through the scheduled flight time when word was passed quietly among the attendants that the captain wanted a word with the crew in the forward lounge. The first-class passengers had been cleared from the area with an excuse. Capt. Andrew Whitly looked tense, very tense.
"I don't want to spread alarm," he began, "but I need to let you know what is going on. The situation hasn't become critical, yet, and we're working on a solution. Whatever else we do, however, you must carry on as usual. Don't let the passengers know anything is wrong."
Andrew paused and looked around his assembled crew. Miriam had known him for years and worked on more flights with him than she could count. His face was a study in control; but she could tell he was worried -- more worried than she had ever seen him. The only thing that betrayed his state of mind was a tiny fidget -- rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as his hands hung at his sides. But Miriam knew Andrew, and he wasn't a man who fidgeted. In Andrew's own body language, that small, nervous rubbing would have translated into tearing out fistfuls of hair in anyone else.
She met his eyes and raise her hand to ask a question. He nodded.
"Can we know the nature of the problem?"
Andrew nodded again.
"We're consuming fuel a bit faster than we should," he said with studied casualness, "and we're not making quite the progress we should. It's a bit as if we'd hit a devil of a headwind. But, to do what it's doing to us, it would have to be of hurricane force. The meteorologists, both in Newfoundland and Reykjavik are telling us we should have a tailwind and no headwind at all."
Miriam nodded.
"I'm going to light the seatbelt sign and announce we're expecting turbulence," he continued. "Keep the passengers in their seats, but act as if it's routine."
Judith raised her hand.
"What do we say if anyone asks whether we're on schedule?"
"Say the weather may make us a little late.
"Meanwhile, we're going to be trying some altitude and course changes to see if we can get through this. I want to emphasize that there is nothing to fear. I'm certain we'll have the problem solved in no time. We're in constant contact with towers in Gander, Reykjavik and London, and they're working on it as well.
"Taking into account the rate we're consuming fuel, we should be able to make Reykjavik for a landing. It may take a while, but in the worst case scenario, even if we can't get out of this headwind, we should still make Reykjavik."
The crew nodded and went back to their work. The seatbelt sign went on and Andrew's voice came over the P.A. system calmly explaining the expected turbulence and even making a little joke about it. A little joke always put the passengers at ease. After all, if the pilot was cracking jokes, what could be wrong?
Miriam headed for the aft galley. As she passed his row, she stole a glance at Dr. Smith. He was watching the little girl sleep with Laa-Laa and Britannia Bear clutched to her chest. She was curled up in the sort of ball that only very young children can manage. He reached over and gently brushed a strand of silky blonde hair out of her face.
Miriam continued on by, glad to see he was calming down. She started to make coffee when she got to the galley. Most of the passengers would be awake after the announcement and passing around an extra round of beverages would keep them occupied.
She was more worried than she wanted to admit. She knew Andrew's speech patterns all too well. They'd dated for a while last year. But Andrew's passion for precision had been their undoing. She'd finally decided he was a control freak. They'd parted on strained but friendly terms.
There was no mistaking the things he hadn't said during that brief explanation to the crew. Andrew was a man who made precise hospital corners on the sheets of his bed. He made coffee with grounds and water measured to plus-or-minus .01% precision. He calculated the gas mileage on his Range Rover to three decimal places. And he'd been tense all day once wearing a shirt she'd ironed for him -- slightly below the standards he set for his own ironing.
In short, when Andrew spoke, he chose his words carefully, and Miriam was sure the difference between "We should be able to make Reykjavik," and "We will be able to make Reykjavik," was significant.
She looked up and found her "problem passenger," the mysterious Dr. Smith, standing in the door of the galley watching her.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said. "The seatbelt sign is lit. I'm going to have to ask you to return to your seat."
"Miriam," he said gravely, looking down at her name tag. "There is something very wrong on this aircraft. I think you should allow me speak with the captain."
Miriam looked at him blankly for a moment. How did he know? Then she remembered his anxiety earlier in the flight. He was afraid of flying, of course. He didn't know. He was just acting out his nervousness.
"There's nothing wrong, Dr. Smith. A little turbulence is quite routine. We run into on more flights than not."
"There isn't any turbulence," he said firmly. "And we're nowhere near where we should be."
Miriam took a deep breath. She was more than a little shaken that he had guessed the problem so accurately. He demeanor was concerned, but not at all anxious.
"Dr. Smith," she began, forcing herself to stay calm.
"Just Doctor," he said, interrupting her. "I'm called the Doctor."
She gave him a withering look. Somehow, she could easily believe that he didn't answer to "Smith."
"Doctor," she began again, "I realize that a first flight can be a little frightening. But I assure you that the captain and flight crew have things firmly in hand."
The Doctor looked impatient. "I assure you than I'm not a frightened tourist acting out my fear of flying. And I saw your reaction a moment ago. You recovered very quickly, but I believe I hit the nail on the head. The plane is not moving as fast or as far as it should. We both know I'm right. Don't you think you should take me to speak with the captain?"
Miriam took a deep breath. "The captain is very busy at the moment. He and the rest of the crew are doing everything possible to deal with the situation. I'm afraid they don't have time to reassure the passengers at the moment. That's my job."
The Doctor sighed. "I have special qualifications to deal with this problem. I believe I can be of help."
Miriam looked him square in the eye. "All right. Convince me. What is the problem, and what can you do about it?"
The Doctor collected his thoughts. "I believe there is a creature on board," he said slowly. "It's called a Drakva. Drakva are dimensional transients, that is, they move freely between dimensions. This one, however, is in some distress. It's stuck here, and quite frightened about it.
"Much as a human will cling to anything near it when terrified, it is clinging to this airplane and preventing it from moving as fast as it should."
"A Drakva," Miriam said flatly. That tore it. He was a nutter. "May I take you back to your seat now, sir? I'll take your message to the captain."
"I know it sounds strange," he said. "But I'm sure I'm the only one on this plane who can get us out of his safely."
"Sir, you just told me there is an alien on this plane. What am I supposed to think? I'm not certain I should even put you back with the other passengers."
"You don't believe in aliens," he said, intoning it as a statement rather than a question.
Miriam shook her head.
"If I could prove to you, beyond a doubt, that there is at least one non-human on this aircraft, will you take me to the captain?"
Miriam didn't smile. She raised an eyebrow in challenge.
The Doctor nodded back. He raised the bottom ribbing on his sweater a bit and started to pull out his shirt tail. For a horrible moment, Miriam thought she was about to be flashed.
"Now just stop right there," she said indignantly.
"It's all right," he said. He took her hand and guided it up under his shirt. She didn't know why she let him do it. Perhaps it was the absolutely sincere look in his eyes.
His skin was smooth, nearly hairless and strangely cool. He put her hand on the left side of his chest.
"Can you feel my heart?"
Miriam nodded silently.
"Now, here." He moved her hand to the other side.
There was another pulse there, distinct from the first -- faster and a bit fainter.
She withdrew her hand and stared at him in surprise. "Th-that doesn't prove anything," she stammered. "Maybe you've got a heart problem and have an artificial valve over there or something."
The Doctor turned and started to pull the galley curtains.
"What are you doing?"
"If I'm going to remove my jumper and shirt and show you I have no surgical scars, I'd like a little privacy," he said.
"No ... don't," Miriam said. "How do I know you just don't have a birth defect?"
"Are you familiar with Ockham's Razor?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's nothing complex. It says that when there are several explanations for something, the simplest is the most likely. In this case, the simplest explanation for the existence of a person with a radically different structure to his circulatory system, and a radically different body temperature -- you noticed that, didn't you -- is that he is not human."
Miriam gaped.
"Now," he said as he tucked in his shirt, "please take me to the captain."
Miriam's mind raced. How was she going to explain an alien with a U.N. passport to Andrew, who didn't believe in anything he hadn't seen with his own eyes? She had a brief image of the Doctor letting Andrew feel for his pulses and the idea almost made her giggle.
"I know it's a lot to take in all at once, but I assure you, astronomers have accepted the idea of extraterrestrial life for a long time. If you calculate the number of stars in the universe, and take into account the number of those stars that are accompanied by planetary systems, it becomes absurd to believe that life only developed on this one planet."
He was smiling at her and she couldn't help but believe him. Nobody who smiled like that could be telling a lie this outrageous.
Miriam nodded. "This way," she said, starting up the aisle toward the stairs that led up to the flight deck.
***
Capt. Andrew Whitly looked at the nutter Miriam had brought to the flight deck. He couldn't imagine what had possessed her to waste his time with a delusional passenger when they were fighting this unexplainable headwind. Miriam had always been a bit unreliable, though. If he'd been in a more charitable mood, he would have said unpredictable, but in his mind there was little difference.
"You say there's an alien on board who's holding the aircraft back," he said with mock seriousness. "Tell me this, how did this little green man manage to get on board through all the document checks?"
"The Drakva isn't green," the Doctor said patiently. "And they don't reproduce sexually, so 'man' isn't very accurate either."
"So how did 'it' get on board?"
"It probably looks like any other passenger. Drakva have the ability to project and image around themselves and blend into their surroundings. I'm sure it produced its ticket and passport the same way."
"But, you can identify it, I suppose?"
"Not at this moment," the Doctor said.
"So if you don't know which passenger is secretly an alien, how do you know there is an alien at all?"
"Captain, there really isn't time for this."
The co-pilot touched the captain's sleeve to get his attention. Andrew turned and took the clipboard that was offered. It wasn't good news.
"We're going to have to try to land at Reykjavik," he said. Much to his annoyance, he found the Doctor looking over his shoulder to peer at the fuel log.
"You're not going to make it," the Doctor said grimly.
"Sir, I'm going to have the flight attendant take you to the first-class lounge. There's nobody else there. I'd appreciate it if you would stay there until we land. If you don't choose to follow my suggestion, I will have you restrained. Do you understand? Interfering with a flight crew in the performance of its duties is a criminal offense in most of the countries where we land."
"Captain, my only concern is the lives of the people on this plane. You know that I'm travelling on an unusual passport. If you doubt me, and I suppose I can't blame you for that, please contact the people who issued this document. I have often acted as a scientific adviser to the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. If you use your radio to contact Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, in that organization, he will vouch for me."
***
The Doctor sat in the empty first-class lounge with his long legs stretched out in front of him and a glum expression on his face.
Miriam brought a pot of tea. He took a cup and thanked her.
"How do you know?" she asked.
"What?"
"About the Drakma."
"Drakva," he corrected her. "I'm pretty sure it's on board because it followed me."
"Are you a Drakva too?"
The Doctor gave her a little smile. "No, I'm a Time Lord."
"What's that?"
"Me."
"But how do you know about the Drakva?"
The Doctor took a deep breath.
"A few days ago, I came across it in London. I sensed him. My people are telepaths, and I felt his fear as I sat near him in a pub near Tottenham Court Road.
"I went around the patrons in the pub until I found him. I took him back to my TARDIS and told him I would help him get free of the Earth's gravitational force, which was holding him here.
"He moves from dimension to dimension, you see, by using a dimensional repulsion field. His field is in a rather unusual resonance with the Earth's gravitational field. He's stuck.
"For a creature accustomed to moving from universe to universe, to be unable to move is terrifying. And Anvalt, that's his name by the way, is a bit claustrophobic, as well.
"As his anxiety increases, his repulsion field increases. It's a defense mechanism. If you're threatened, jump to another universe.
"Unfortunately, because of the resonance, his repulsion field acts as an attraction field. He's like a magnet trying to pull us down to the Earth, right now."
Miriam listened wide-eyed. As ridiculous as it sounded, she believed every word.
"So, Anvalt got scared and ran away from you in London, and you followed him to America to bring him back?" Miriam asked like a child who wants to guess the ending of a story.
"Um, no. Nothing so dignified," the Doctor replied, leaning back in his seat.
"I rigged a field generator to nullify the resonance. I didn't get the harmonics quite right, and when it interacted with Anvalt's repulsion field, it blew the two of us to Ohio."
Miriam tried to picture this, but couldn't see how the Doctor could have survived an explosion strong enough to move him that far.
"We didn't go flying through the air," he explained. "We were pushed into hyperspace and emerged in Dayton."
"Oh, dear!" Miriam said.
"Yes, quite undignified. I was traumatized. That is, I didn't know where I was or who for a bit after I woke up. I spent a couple of nights in a homeless shelter before I recovered my wits.
"Then, as soon as I remembered who I was, and how I got to Dayton, I called UNIT and got some travel papers and a ticket so I could get back to the TARDIS. And that pretty much gets us up to now."
"But what about Anvalt?"
The Doctor gave a rueful smile. "My wits have been a little addled. I couldn't sense him at first. But, after I got on board this aircraft, I started to feel his anxiety. It kept getting worse. He's absolutely terrified now. I think he followed me on board.
"I did promise to help him, after all."
"When you find him, what will you do?"
"Try to calm him down. If he can get control of himself emotionally, he can shut down his repulsion field."
And the plane won't crash, Miriam thought hopefully.
Capt. Whitly came into the lounge, his expression a mixture of resignation and amazement.
"I've had word from London," he said. "They say Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart has retired. But they also said I should put the safety of this plane and all its passengers entirely in your hands."
Miriam led the Doctor down the aisles. He was doing an excellent job of feigning airsickness. He stopped at each row and clutched the nearest seatback to steady himself. In the process, he managed to make eye contact with each passenger in turn. Most turned away, not wanting to look at the man who seemed ready to puke at any moment.
When they got to the row where the Doctor had been sitting, he paused a little longer. The little girl was still sleeping, the bear and Teletubby clutched to her chest.
Miriam recognized the look on his face as he looked down at the sleeping tot. It was pure, besotted love.
The girl's mother regarded him with deep suspicion, and he moved on before she could make any comment.
They proceeded down the aisle slowly, the Doctor doing his sick man routine at each row. Finally, he stopped next to an ashen-faced man in a trench coat who was huddling against the wall in the window seat.
"Anvalt," the Doctor said cheerfully. "So glad to see you. Could you come up front with us?"
The man looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Miriam couldn't believe she had missed him in her circuits of the cabin. He was the very picture of abject terror. He gripped his arm rests with white-knuckled hands. His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated. He was shaking like a leaf.
"Can't move," Anvalt said through clenched teeth. "Too scared."
Miriam swung into action. She slid into the empty seat beside him and patted his hand.
"Now, now, everything is going to be fine," she said soothingly. "Just relax and take your time. When you're ready, we'll just get up very slowly and make our way up to the first-class lounge."
It took a while, but Anvalt finally crept out of his seat and allowed himself to be led forward. In the meantime, the Doctor had been the recipient of several terse notes from the captain, counting down the time left before the fuel ran out. The Doctor commented blandly on how precise Capt. Whitly was in calculating his fuel reserves.
In the first-class lounge, the Doctor sat next to Anvalt and talked to him soothingly. Miriam stepped out into the corridor and was met by the co-pilot.
"Captain said there's been some improvement," he said. "But it's not good enough. We're going to be setting down in the water unless that field is completely neutralized -- and soon."
Miriam nodded and stepped back into the lounge.
The Doctor was trying to distract Anvalt with some sort of shaggy dog story. What he was saying didn't make much sense to her, but she supposed you had to be an alien to get it. Anvalt chuckled nervously, but continued to tremble.
"Doctor, if I might, there's something I'd like to try."
The Doctor rolled his eyes.
"Be my guest. I'm not doing very well here."
Miriam pulled one of the individual video screens out in front of Anvalt. The personal video system was one of the amenities first-class passengers were afforded. She went through the program listings to find the right show.
The screen came to life, showing an unnaturally green hilltop with a round hole in the middle. Four rotund, colorful figures popped out of the hole and presented themselves.
"It's Teletubbies ..." the narrator intoned.
By the second time through the film on riding ponies, Anvalt was smiling broadly and crying "Again, again," right along with the characters on the screen.
On the ground in Reykjavik, the passengers were herded off the plane and into the gift shop with a cover story about a warning light in the cockpit. Miriam stood in the terminal watching the slightly disoriented people milling about. She heard the mother of the little girl who had been sitting next to the Doctor lecturing the girl on not taking toys from strange men. The girl was clutching Britannia Bear to her chest all the while.
Miriam turned and saw the Doctor leaning against a pillar nearby, watching the same scene with an odd look on his face. He was back in his beige coat, complete with celery on the lapel. Just as before, the odd outfit looked completely natural on him.
She went over.
"Shame really."
"What?" he asked.
"That her mum has to warn her against strangers."
He nodded.
"The captain said you and Anvalt won't be traveling on with us."
"UNIT is sending a military plane for us," he replied. "They don't want to take any more chances."
"Did you know what that bear was worth?"
He shrugged. "A smile from a beautiful girl."
Miriam remembered that answer for a long time. She knew she liked it a lot better than £200.
THE END