The Doctor gets involved in the first lunar landing, alien intervention and sinister US agents. What can possibly go wrong?
20th July, 1969, four days into the Doctor's future.
Earth hung in a state of perpetual dawn over the crater; the turn of the Moon perfectly aligned to its orbit about the planet. The Doctor had once tried to calculate the chances of such a coincidence. But then he'd got bored, or distracted, he couldn't remember. The metal rims of his space suit creaked against the knackered old deckchair as he shifted, trying to keep from dozing off. The near vacuum around him created an unmatchable tranquillity. Silence.
Well, not quite. The Doctor jerked his head up as the jovial sound of strings crackled into his earpiece; he reached out and fiddled with the wireless radio at his feet, static flaring as he brought it out of tune. Wrong knob. He turned it back and felt for the volume.
'That was The Archers on Radio 4. And now moving far away from Ambridge, we invite you...'
The Doctor flung his hands up in frustration, 'Is that the time?' This was not good. He leapt to his feet, patting his suit pouches. 'Telescope, telescope. Ah!' He flourished the instrument, snapping it to full extension, and slapped it against his visor.
The flare of the sun on the ring of the crater blinded him for a second, but soon he had the blue orb of his favourite planet in his sights. Sure enough, up to the right was the silver streak; hurtling toward him.
Still a few thousand miles away, but closing every second.
Today, for the first time in humanity's history, man would walk on the Moon.
But not for a good hour at least.
'Take your time lads, we're not quite ready yet,' he said, holding up his hands in a 'woah there' motion. He closed the telescope with his palm and patted it against his shoulder impatiently. If there was a time for pacing, the Doctor thought, this was it.
Having decided on the best course of action in the current situation he started to circle his deckchair at top speed, long strides enhanced by the lunar gravity.
On his fourteenth circuit the Doctor realised that this wasn't actually helping anything and slumped back into his seat. He brought the wireless onto his lap and started fiddling feverishly with the tuner.
'Where are you? Where are you?' he grumbled.
Suddenly he hit the spot. A perfect note sung out, followed by another, accompanying an exquisite minor harmony. The Doctor whistled his own response as he laid the radio carefully back down and flung his arms into the heavens, as though offering up the biggest hug in the world.
The gesture swiftly folded into a shield for his eyes as an impossibly bright beam poured into the crater from above, so strong that the Doctor could almost feel the dust rippling out from around his feet.
His glasses tinted themselves, but it wasn't enough.
Through the tightest squint he could manage, the Doctor thought he could make out the shadow of a disc above the light.
A flying saucer. Classic.
He breathed deeply to recover, puffing out his chest as he stood to address the visitors.
'Thank you for coming,' he said. 'There's something I'd like to say.'