The XK9, floating on course to approach the moon now for its collision course! The room inside is beginning to get stuffy. Sweat pouring on their brows too, with the oxygen supply beginning to slowly decrease, as they sit in their seats waiting to be picked up. They simply had nothing else to do.
Dr. Rimmer:
They... They... Must be coming now. International Rescue must be on their way. They always... are. They wouldn't leave us out to die.
Dr. Bell:
We'd probably die of heat exhaustion or oxygen starvation before we are hit by space debris, asteroids, or the moon.
Shuttle Pilot:
Shouldn't we call them or something? To let them know?
Dr. Glanville:
The more we move, the quicker the air is used up. We've called them enough times now.
Dr. Bell:
The crash from the Orb was worse than we imagined then. Heating and oxygen!
Shuttle Pilot:
The worst bit is just the waiting. But they'll come to get us out! They will! International Rescue always come to save the day!
Dr. Glanville:
That's the spirit lad.
Dr. Rimmer:
Just save your breath now. You young lad are younger; you can stand this easier than us. Even talking waits the oxygen. Just rest now gentlemen. Rest. Rest until International Rescue come. Until International Rescue come.
Thunderbird 3, a side-on shot from its right, rocketing through space, chasing after the XK9, which is now in range and will shortly come into contact.
Alan:
Thunderbird 3 to XK9. Thunderbird 3 to XK9. Do you read me? Come in XK9?
Brains:
That must the ship up a-ahead!
We see the ship from it's behind, as it is marked in white on the scanner.
Alan:
F.A.B. Thunderbird 3 to XK9. Thunderbird 3 to XK9?
Shuttle Pilot:
Thunderbird 3? Can... Can you hear us? We're... We're, running out of air. Heating exhaustion. Can't hold out much longer!
Alan:
Hang on XK9! We're coming alongside now. What's your time before collision?
Shuttle Pilot:
Now down to twenty... twenty minutes, International Rescue.
Alan:
And your heat and oxygen supplies?
Shuttle Pilot:
Running... running critically low now, International Rescue.
Brains:
I'm afraid we may not have tw-twenty minutes to get them out, A-Alan. The a-asteroids are g-getting closer and closer. If we d-don't act now, then they will be crushed to ffr-fragments!
Thunderbird 3 finally pursues parallel with the XK9 rocket, and we see the asteroid debris field beginning to close in rapidly, now there was very little time...
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Doctor Who/Thunderbirds: Leader Of The IronSword
FanfictionThe IronSword - a ruthless and callous war-like race, vicious warrior-like life forms dealing with the fantasy and legends of our understanding, have spread their race across the galaxy. Their leader, simply known as the IronSword, has been overthro...
