Turlough let out a gentle sigh of futility as he pulled up his trousers and put the
dog-eared copy of Escort back under the mattress. This really wasn't good enough : three
months on the Tardis, and not so much as a hint of getting his end away. Nyssa had seemed
keen enough on him, but since she'd gone (the only woman on a ship of fifty-seven men
...) his luck hadn't really been in.
Indeed, his last non-solo experience (if you didn't count Ibbotson, who hardly
warranted a notch on the bed-post) had been over five months ago at that cattle market
organised by Brendon School with the neighbouring St Angelica's, and even she wasn't that
much to look at. He might have got further were it not for the fact that earth girls
seemed to be somewhat put off by the placing of his other Trion brand-marking.
The truth, if he was really honest with himself, was that he fancied that Australian
bint like mad, but for some strange reason she would like nothing better than to see him
suspended upside down from the ceiling by his balls with cheese wire. Mind you, if it was
the only way to get her aroused ...
He'd been subtle, he'd been direct, he'd even had a bath, but to no avail. All she was
interested in was that wet drip with the celery ("Is this some weird kind of
fetish?" he asked himself), forever mooning after him with those big brown eyes of
hers (oh, those eyes ...). All in vain, because he was still pining after Nyssa
and her short 'fairy' skirt (oh, those knees ...).
All in all, he stood more chance of scoring with that bloody robot than he did with
* * * *
Kamelion, it must be said, did take some persuading. "I do have a mind of my
own," it protested.
"I don't want your bloody mind," muttered Turlough, "just your body. Now
are you going to cooperate or do I have to tell the Doctor what you've been getting up to
with K9 mark IV?"
The android turned a pale shade of silver and looked ashamedly at the ground.
"There's nothing wrong with two robots ... interfacing ... It's natural and beautiful
"It's fucking obscene, that's what it is, Kamelion! And you could have had the
decency to have bent his tail back into position afterwards."
After that Kamelion seemed a little more cooperative.
* * * *
The shimmering always unnerved him, but for once it wasn't the Doctor controlling the
mechanoid but Turlough himself. So no more Atrian princesses or plump fifteen year-old
boys in ill-fitting pyjamas, but, at last, the image of the ice-maiden of the Tardis,
tempestuous Tegan. He just hoped that her fiery temper carried through into, ahem, other
Turlough fidgetted uneasily with his buttons as Kamelion stabilised into its new form.
The robot had, indeed, done a grand job, duplicating every last detail of the Trion's
intended, from the pert turn-up of her nose to the finely sculpted curve of her ankle.
And, seeing as it was Turlough's mind (and hence fantasies) that was controlling the
operation, she was dressed in a short, delicate white nightdress that was almost, but not
quite, transparent. Heaven on two legs. And soon, hoped Turlough, on her back.
The harsh antipodean voice soon cut through his dreams. "What the fuck do you
think you're doing in my bedroom, you public school faggot?"
Turlough blinked. Surely it was the girl in front of him that had spoken, his
Tegan. And his Tegan wouldn't speak to him like that, would she? Ah, but he'd
been hoping for the fiery, passionate temperament. He'd just have to take the rough with
the smooth. He went into automatic and switched on the charm. "But you invited me, my
dear," he smarmed, wearing his most ingratiating smile. It never failed to work on
the sixth-formers at Brendon. Some girls liked it as well.
"Keep away from me, you creep! And take your hand off ... really!" And she
slapped his face hard.
Turlough reeled back in astonishment, which soon turned to indignation. "Kamelion
- let's just forget the full Mike Yarwood bit and concentrate on the essentials,
okay?" He closed his eyes and devoted all his attention to the submissive, pouting
centrefold currently folded beneath his mattress.
When he opened his eyes, Tegan was lying on the bed facing him, legs slightly bent, the
thin lace of her nightdress riding up her thigh. She blew him a kiss and motioned him
towards her. "Okay big boy, give it all you've got," and she winked coyly.
Now we're motoring, thought Turlough, this is what we want. Frantically he fumbled with
his trousers, almost tripping over them in his rush to get to the bed and her warm, moist
... (which is as far as we go in a family zine like this)
Tegan received him with open arms, and much more besides. He melted into her soft
flesh, feeling her warmth envelope him. God it had been so long. He soon lost himself in
the rythmic motions and the liquid depths of her luscious eyes. Which made it all the more
painful when he felt his manhood slam against a wall of solid metal. With horror he opened
his eyes and saw Tegan gently shimmering, her pale skin turning a fearful silver. A
feeling of dread clutched at his stomach as something else entirely clutched at his
"For fuck's sake Kamelion, not now!"
"But sir, the Doctor's coming. I can feel his mind."
"I don't care, I'm about to ... uuuuh!"
"I'm sorry sir, but the Doctor's mind is so much stronger ... I cannot resist
Before his eyes, Tegan's face blurred, her silver body thankfully transforming into a
more normal pink. Turlough just closed his eyes and finished himself off as best he could,
burying his face in Tegan's thick mop of hair. Thick mop of hair? What happened to her
As he opened his eyes the door burst open and he heard the Doctor's shocked voice
shudder with horror :
"Turlough! What are you doing with ..." He paused to try and take in the full
"Adric ... where did you come from?"
Issue five contents
Five Hundred Eyes index