It's from the Brigadier.
He's in trouble again.
And it's time to say goodbye to all of you, but I will see you again very soon.
Next Saturday, in fact. Goodbye.
First on BBC1, Doctor Who faces a new adversary in a new 4-part adventure.
Hey, listen, Willie. With tomorrow's supply 'cop trip, can you no
send over a few haggis?
The chef we have here doesnae ken the first thing about...
Willie?
Hello, Willie, can you hear me? Over.
This is Charlie Rig to Hibernian Control.
Are you receiving? I say again, Charlie Rig to Hibernian Control.
Do you read me? Over.
Mayday! Mayday!
Halt!
Forward!
There we are.
Follow me.
Hold on!
Hi.
Good morning.
Are you wanting a lift?
Hey, listen to that. That's old Angus at it again.
Okay. Take her in.
Three rigs destroyed in a month. Two of them ours, General.
Brigadier, actually.
Well, Brigadier, my company's lost millions.
The government is equally concerned, I can assure you, Mister Huckle,
though more especially about the loss of life.
If this keeps up, pretty soon there won't be a man willing to work out there.
Do we have to put up with this hullabaloo?
I'm afraid we've rather imposed ourselves on the landlord.
If he wants to play his pipes, there's not much I can do about it.
Ah, Mister Benton. Any news of the Doctor yet?
No, sir. Nothing yet.
He ought to have materialised by now.
- Mister Benton. - Sir?
Is this thing still working?
As far as I know, sir, yes.
You get on well with the landlord, don't you?
Right, sir.
Oh, there's your Doctor now, sir.
Good lord!
Mister Huckle.
Who's the man in the driving seat?
Him? That's the Duke of Forgill,
the local big shot. He doesn't make things easy.
He owns just about everything in this part of Scotland, except our shore base,
and frankly, he doesn't like us. Not one little bit.
Oh, welcome back, Doctor.
I want to know one thing, Brigadier.
What's that?
That, Doctor, is a kilt.
Suits you very well.
- Oh, do you think so? - Yes.
Oh, this is his Grace the Duke of Forgill.
He very kindly gave us a lift.
I had to pass here on the way to the oil base.
To see me?
- To see you, Mister Hickle. - Huckle.
To complain yet again about your rough necks trespassing and poaching on my property.
My men have been warned, sir.
If any of them are caught, they'll be dismissed immediately.
Let me give you a final warning.
If my ghillie catches them on my land again, they'll be shot.
And that's no idle threat, Mister Heckle.
I'll be expecting you, Brigadier.
Yes, Mister Huckle.
I trust the army isn't going to help these people.
Is that why you were sent here?
No, sir. We're a military investigation team.
Investigating what?
I'm afraid our mission is a sensitive matter, sir.
Official secrets and all that twaddle, eh?
Well, I won't pry,
although my family have served this country for seven centuries,
but that doesn't seem to count these days, does it.
Good day to you
What an odd man. Rather mediaeval in his ideas.
A man of convictions.
All the same, he did save us a long walk, sir.
Anyway, it's nice to see you again, Brigadier.
- And you, Miss Smith. - Though I didn't expect to see you in a kilt.
My dear Miss Smith, as you remember,
my name is Lethbridge Stewart. The clan Stewart.
Oh, sorry. I thought you were doing a Doctor.
- What an absurd idea. - Brigadier,
why have you called me back? I hope you've got a very good reason.
All three rigs were in this area.
- Therefore it seems to us... - Brigadier, Brigadier!
Have you brought me 270 million miles just to sort out a little trouble at sea?
- Three serious disasters, Doctor! - When I left the psionic beam with you,
Brigadier, I said it was only to be used in an emergency.
This is an emergency.
Oil an emergency? Huh!
that to be dependent upon a mineral slime just doesn't make sense.
Now, the energising of hydrogen…
Doctor, the destruction of these rigs is a complete mystery.
- Do you want more men to die? - No.
Very well. When do we start?
The oil company. We're paying them a visit this afternoon.
Here's the preliminary medical report on the condition of the bodies.
They died the same way as the others. Exposure and drowning.
Yes, so I heard, Mister Huckle.
- There's quite a few crush injuries. - The rig collapsed.
I think I'd better take a look at these, sir.
Yes, good idea, Sullivan.
You cut off to the sick bay and we'll see you back at headquarters.
- Aye, aye, sir. - I'll come with you as far as the village.
I can talk to some of the local people, see what I can find out.
Okay?
- See you later. - Bye, Doctor.
You know,
these things always remind me of three legged spiders in Wellington boots.
Correction, concrete boots.
Thousands of tons of it. Those babies are meant to be unsinkable.
Yes, so was the Bismarck, and we all know that story.
We spent a fortune proving the Waverley field geologically sound.
Everything is constantly checked for stability.
Winds, tides, the constant moving of the sea bed…
You say these radio blackouts have happened before?
Each time a rig has disappeared.
And no strange craft in the area? Nothing suspicious?
Difficult to be sure. It was at night.
The radio picked up some strange sound,
but as far as we know, the sea was calm and empty.
It may be calm, but it's never empty.
That's right. I'm Angus Ferguson McRanald.
My family's been in these parts for generations.
Really? Well, they tell me in the village, Mister McRanald,
that besides being the best piper for miles around,
you also have second sight.
Well, I am the seventh son of the seventh son.
You know, the fellow with you, the Doctor,
he looks likes a man who might see around a few corners himself.
Quite a few.
Oh, that's a fine looking head.
Aye. Yon's a twelve pointer. Brought down by the Duke of Forgill himself.
Gave it to the inn just this last week.
He's a strange man, this Duke, isn't he?
Would you think so, Miss?
You know, I would give it a favour to remember he is the McRanald, my clan chief.
Oh, of course. No, no, it was just that,
well, after he picked us up in his car,
he never spoke a word all the way to the village.
Ah well, it's true he's no the Duke I remember.
He's been a different man since the oil companies came.
You seem to blame everything on the oil company.
All his servants have left to go and work for them.
I've said Forgill Castle is a cold, empty house these days.
Wouldnae care to set foot in it myself, that's a fact.
The local people say you had a vision of disaster for the oil company.
Do they now?
You seem to have done a fair bit of clacking in the village, my dear.
Is it true?
I'm no saying,
but only bad luck comes to them who set over Tullock Moor.
Really? Why?
Tullock Moor's a strange, murky sort of place.
When the mist comes down, it's like steam frae a witch's cauldron.
Nobody from these parts will cross the moor after dark.
Oh, Mister McRanald, now that's just superstition, surely?
Call it that, if you like.
Well, has anything ever happened to anyone up there?
Aye. There was a man, a foreigner from the Black Isle.
Stayed at this very inn. He went out on the moor.
- Never seen again. - Oh, he left without paying his bill, did he?
- When did this happen, anyway? - Nineteen hundred and twenty two.
Then there was the case of the Jamieson boys, although that was a wee while ago.
Okay.
What happened to them?
It was, let me see, 1870. They went out cutting peat and the mist came down.
Donald just disappeared.
They found the older brother, Robert, two days later, wandering about, off his head.
His eyes, his eyes were terrible to see.
For the rest of his life he never spoke again.
Take my word for it, my dear. There are ancient mysteries here.
Evil spirits haunt Tullock Moor.
Maybe, but I'm certain of one thing, Mister McRanald.
Evil spirits don't destroy oil rigs.
The rig. I was on the rig.
It's all right. It's all right, old chap. Don't worry. I'll have you in hospital in no time.
Too late. I didn't have a chance.
What do you mean? What happened?
It suddenly came at us. Smashed the rig to pieces.
What did?
Hi.
What's that?
Er, if you're interested,
the Brig's on the quayside watching wreckage being brought ashore.
Thought that'd interest you. He's being very secretive.
If you ask me, he's wasting his time.
Landlord here's got second sight.
You know what he was playing? Flowers of the Forest.
A lament for the dead.
What is that thing you're fiddling with?
It's part of the radio probe system,
used for checking localised jamming.
Well, what if that gets jammed, too?
Hallo, Fox Inn.
Harry's been shot!
Strength?
Diastelic reading seven oh three.
Increase the sonic core tone by three remars.
Increased to three remars.
Contact firm.
Check directional pass.
Pass correct to within one Earth mile.
Closing.
Say again. Over.
Hibernian Control. Number three Ben Nevis rig. Over.
Got you, Ben Nevis, loud and clear.
How are things out there? Morale okay? Over.
Everything's fine. Any news of your investigations? Over.
Nothing much. The Brigadier...
Hello? Hello?
Hibernian Control, this is number three rig.
Are you receiving me? I say again, are you receiving me? Over.
Not again. Ben Nevis, Ben Nevis, are you there? Are you there? Over!
Has he said anything?
No.
What? Nothing at all?
No. He's still in shock. The bullet grazed his skull.
Harry? Harry, can you hear me?
Harry, it's the Doctor. Can you hear me?
Is he all right?
No, he's not. He's got a scalp wound.
He should be all right, but he needs time.
Yes, but time is the last thing we have, Doctor.
- Another rig's just been destroyed. - What?
The Ben Nevis Rig. Fifty miles west of the Prince Charlie.
Forty men aboard, completely vanished.
- Same pattern? - Exactly the same.
First of all radio blackout, and then that extraordinary sound.
Now Mister Huckle's going mad.
I'll come back with you.
I'll stay with Harry, then I can call you if there's any improvement.
Good girl.
Harry? Harry, it's me, Sarah.
I think you should let him rest. He is under sedation, you know.
Yes. Yes, of course.
What's that?
Part of the wreckage from the Prince Charlie. It's been curiously marked. Look.
Mister Benton?
Nip into the sickbay, will you, and fetch some Plaster of Paris.
- Plaster of - Paris. They'll have some to spare.
Okay, Doctor.
How very curious.
Doctor, do you mind telling us exactly what you're doing?
A little experiment in orthodontology, Mister Huckle.
Orthodontology?
Teeth. Teeth. The scientific study of teeth.
It's the cast of a tooth, wouldn't you say?
Teeth? Doctor, you can't be serious.
Teeth are very serious things, Mister Huckle.
Look. Lets get this straight.
Are you trying to tell me that the rigs were
- chewed up by a set of giant molars? - Yes.
A set of giant molars that can chew through solid steel as easily as paper.
Are you suggesting that we're dealing with some kind of sea monster?
Yes. A monster of frightening size and power.
This one they call the Doctor is a threat to us.
Already he has found out too much.
He must be destroyed.
- Sarah. - Yes.
- Sarah. - It's all right, Harry. It's all right.
- There's a man on the... - What is it?
- On the beach - What are you trying to say?
Oh, Sister Lamont. I didn't hear you. He's coming round.
Doctor Sullivan, how are you feeling?
Harry, what did you find out? Did Munro tell you anything?
Munro?
The man on the beach. The man who was shot.
The rig. The rig was shaking. Falling.
And then what, Harry?
Keep trying. I'm going to call the Doctor.
It's all right, Doctor Sullivan. You're quite safe.
Your worries are over now. You're going to be very well looked after.
She says he's recovering. Good. Good. Has he said anything?
Well, he's starting to speak. I think there's something he wants to tell us.
The rig,
the rig was smashed to pieces. Nothing left.
Munro in the water, struggling.
Cold, exposed,
hypothermia…
No! No! No!
No, no. I'll be right over.
And Sarah? Better keep his recovery dark for the moment.
Well, why? Do you think Harry's still in danger from something?