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dark-haired man dressed in black velvet, and sporting an arrowhead-shaped beard on his chin. I mean, I call it a beard, but it barely covered the chin. It was more of a beardette. A hemi-beard. A bea. But it was nattily trimmed and sculpted, and it made a nice accompaniment to the black-velvet three-piece and pointy brogues the fellow was wearing. They were exactly the sort of clothes you’d expect an evil genius to wear. It was as if he’d been to a clothes-maker not on Saville Row, but on Eville Row . Hah! Do you see? D’you see what I did there, with the joke? That’s an example of the sort of joke that substitutes one word for another than sounds similar but . . . what? What’s that?
    Alright, alright, I’ll stop.
    ‘So, Debater,’ declared the Dr. ‘We meet yet again.’
    ‘And this time,’ the suavely evil figure announced, ‘ I have the upper hand.’
    ‘How did you manage to persuade the Cydermen to work for you?’
    ‘It’s a long story. Too long to go into here, I’m afraid. Instead of worrying about the hows of the situation, Doctor, you should be worrying about the imminence of your own death. Not to mention the deaths of your two charming companions-stroke-victims, there.’
    ‘But what are you doing here?’ the Dr demanded. ‘On this prototype British Navy Habbakuk warship?’
    ‘That’s another long story,’ said the Master Debater. ‘Suffice to say that, due to an involved and interconnected set of events, I have been deprived of my TARDY, which has stranded me on this backwater world. My plan was to use these Cydermen to capture this ship, and then use it to harass the world powers, sink their navies, that sort of thing. In six months I anticipate conquering the entire globe. Then I can use its resources, and direct its best scientific brains, to build me a new TARDY, and - escape!’
    ‘And what do the Cydermen get from the deal?’ the Dr demanded.
    ‘They get the world when I’ve finished with it . . . a whole planet to enslave and dominate. But now that you’re here, my dear Doctor, I don’t believe I need to go to the bother of making war on the whole of humanity after all. Instead of conquering this world and enslaving it to make my TARDY I can simply . . . steal yours!’ He laughed. It was not an attractive laugh. Nor, if I’m honest, was it an especially effective laugh. It didn’t capture that penetrating nya-ha-ha-ha-ha! laugh that the best evil geniuses have down pat. Instead it was a high-pitched shrieky sort of bray, the sort of noise a very small woman might make if strapped to a kitchen stool and tickled with a feather.
    ‘Steal my TARDY!’ exclaimed the Dr. ‘Never!’
    ‘I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter. I shall take your TARDY whether you like it or not.’
    One of the Cydermen, to the Master Debater’s left, spoke up: ‘ But if you zteal der man here’s cra-a-aft and buggeroff . . .’ it said, in a raspy metallic burr, ‘ what shall us do about conquerin’ der world and all, oo-aur ?’
    ‘ Ooo Aur ,’ grumbled the ranks of Cydermen, uneasily. ‘ Ooo. Aur .’
    ‘Don’t be foolish,’ said the Master Debater. ‘You’ll still have control of this warship. You can conquer the planet yourselves. It might take you a little longer than it would do if I were here to guide you, what with my tactical brilliance and all. But you’ll get there eventually.’
    ‘ Oi zuppose so ,’ said the Cyderman. ‘ Ooo Aur .’
    ‘Master Debater!’ said the Dr. ‘You have surpassed yourself! Or, to be strictly accurate, you have sub passed yourself. Which is to say, you have gone lower than ever you have before.’
    ‘Give me your TARDY!’ retorted the Master Debater.
    ‘Never!’
    ‘Then you leave me no choice. Cydergentlemen, fire away.’
    All the Cydermen in unison lifted their hands and pointed their finger-clickin’ guns in our direction. We three ducked back down behind the ridge. There was a deafening volley of gunshots, mixed with the