BRIGADIER: Now I'm not going to sit here like a spare lemon waiting for the squeezer.

BRIGADIER: What the blazes is that? Some kind of ornament?

YATES: Not exactly, sir. Watch.

(Yates throws a rock at Bok, who zaps it into atoms.)

BRIGADIER: Yes, I see what you mean. Never mind, we'll soon fix him. Jenkins!

JENKINS: Sir.

BRIGADIER: Chap with the wings there. Five rounds rapid.

(No effect, of course.)

YATES: Fancy a dance, Brigadier?

BRIGADIER: It's kind of you, Captain Yates. I think I'd rather have a pint.

(Rugby Match finishes)

YATES: Thirteen nil.

BENTON: They're lucky it wasn't a hundred and thirteen nil. What a useless lot.

(Benton hands Yates his winnings.)

(The telephone has woken the Brigadier, who is still in bed.)

BRIGADIER: The Doctor's gone? Gone where? Well, you should know, Corporal. I want to talk to him. What? Oh, all right then, wake up Miss Grant. I see. And I suppose she didn't leave a number either? I suppose it wouldn't do any good to ask for Captain Yates or Sergeant Benton? My helicopter? Where to? Devil's End. Yes, yes, I see. Get my car here right away. Yes, and if they do contact you, tell them to stay put.

DOCTOR: No, man, no. You're trying to channel the entire output of the National Power Complex through one transistor. Reverse it.

OSGOOD: Reverse what?

DOCTOR: Reverse the polarity.

DOCTOR: (drawing a diagram) ...And it comes out here. Right?

OSGOOD: Right. I think.

DOCTOR: Good grief, man, it's as simple as Einstein's special theory of relativity!

BRIGADIER: We'll manage, Doctor.

DOCTOR: Good. When you get that thing finished, bring it through the barrier and down to the village at once, all right? (He drives off.)

BRIGADIER: You know, Sergeant, I sometimes wish I worked in a bank.

MISS HAWTHORNE: (pouring tea) You must learn the art of waiting, Sergeant. The Doctor will come, or else he won't, and that's all that can be said. Now, milk or lemon?