The Slow Train from the Far East
The wind howls through the dust-choked streets of Lester’s Gulch , rattling loose shutters and rolling tumbleweed past abandoned storefronts. Then, with a wheezing groan, a blue police box materialises in the centre of town. The door swings open. “Wicked!” cries Ace , leaning out into the blazing sun. “Looks like we’re in the Wild West, Professor!” Behind her, the Seventh Doctor adjusted his hat and peered over her shoulder. “American Wild West, late nineteenth century by the look of it… though something’s not quite right.” Ace grins. “What is it?” The Doctor’s eyes narrow. “What do you notice?” She scans the street again. Her smile fades. “It’s quiet… No gunfire. No horses. No livestock. Not even a piano from the saloon.” “Exactly,” the Doctor replies softly. “Come along, Ace. Let’s take a look around.” Windows are boarded. Doors are barred. The saloon stands silent. Lester’s Gulch is not a town at peace - it’s a town holding its breath. At last, movement. A knot of grim-...