Bitter Sweet
A New Era Dawns
“Just as the doctor who's doing the doctoring wants to do the doctoring…” he sang as he wandered in the console room. Man, he loved the irony in that song.
“Or does the doctor doing the doctoring, doctor the doctor who's being doctored?…” he hammered on imaginary drums, and turned to the TARDIS’ glowing control panel. He twisted a couple of dials, experimentally and gave the vortex loop a good pump… nothing happened. The hummed and murmured as he fished the sonic screwdriver out of his suit pocket. He carelessly shoved away some wires from the console surface and poked around with the screwdriver in the gap he’d made.
The screwdriver glowed blue and he removed it, checking the display screen.
“Ohhh…ah…hmmm… well you certainly need a mercury top-up, old girl…” the machine gave the tiniest tremble, “Well, yes… maybe less of the old, I suppose…” He meandered round the other side of controls,
“I wonder… maybe…” he flicked a series of switches, and red flecks appeared in the turquoise hue of the console, “…not.” He switched them back. The lone traveller mused a little way further around the central controls, pausing to analyse the machine’s data displayed on the TARDIS’ computer screen. He took a few steps further round, then suddenly dropped to his knees with a bang.
“Now, we’re getting somewhere!” There was a jubilant grin on the time-travellers face. He took off his jacket and threw it to the seat, across the console. It missed and landed with a crumpled heap on the floor. He left it there as he loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, before lifting two of the metal grids from the TARDIS floor. He clambered into the belly of the TARDIS, tinkering with all the ship’s workings. For once he had a completely contented grin spread across his face – deep inside his beautiful, beautiful TARDIS; deep within the only piece of home he had left…
____________________________*****
A while later, he shuffled into the culinary hub, tired and grubby, but happy. He’d spent over an hour underneath the floor, renewing the mercury in the fluid systems and patching up old circuit networks. He’d sorted most of the repair work and all it needed now was a short test run. He wondered where he might take it for a spin, as he pressed a button on the kitchen wall.
“Might take that trip to Barcelona,” he mused aloud as he pulled a steaming orange polka-dot mug from the cupboard. Placing the tea down on the table, he paused slightly before reaching for the fridge door. The cold metal… the gale. His fingers grasped the cold sides of the milk bottle and pulled it quickly off the shelf, letting the door close itself. Sighing, he quickly cleared away the remnants of that morning’s breakfast, and strolled down the corridor, mug in hand. He settled himself down on the console room chair and switched on one of the many television channels the TARDIS received, from all over the universe – and from every time zone.
“Urgh…” he muttered as a quiz show came on the screen, and right before his eyes a contestant was squished into green mush by the host. He flicked through channels, straight past the shopping channels – where you could buy horn warmers, made with the skins of Lava Slugs, encrusted in diamonds… if, of course, you wanted them. He flipped the channel over…
“Where the hell is UKTV Gold?” he murmured to himself. Then he heard a familiar sound - his head jerked up, eyes widened, his brow furrowed.
“What…?” The time rotor was moving, the dials were turning themselves…
“What the hell is happening?” he shouted, above the noise of the TARDIS. He leapt up and ran to the door and peered out of the window, but stepped back, the ship wasn’t dematerialising… he looked back in confusion at the engine, as it swelled upwards. The TARDIS wasn’t moving… but it was working. Then the cloister bell rang. The blue light on the console began to flash. Alarms, warnings; the time-traveller rushed to the controls of his ship. It meant danger, impending doom… but what from? Frantic, he tried to pull controls back, rushing around the central unit, maniacally pulling and twisting and flipping. He was concentrating so hard on stopping his time machine from flying off; he failed to notice the most important thing. Something was materialising… someone… on the TARDIS shelf, above his head. Kneeling, head bent down - a girl…
The girl… dark hair.
“Or does the doctor doing the doctoring, doctor the doctor who's being doctored?…” he hammered on imaginary drums, and turned to the TARDIS’ glowing control panel. He twisted a couple of dials, experimentally and gave the vortex loop a good pump… nothing happened. The hummed and murmured as he fished the sonic screwdriver out of his suit pocket. He carelessly shoved away some wires from the console surface and poked around with the screwdriver in the gap he’d made.
The screwdriver glowed blue and he removed it, checking the display screen.
“Ohhh…ah…hmmm… well you certainly need a mercury top-up, old girl…” the machine gave the tiniest tremble, “Well, yes… maybe less of the old, I suppose…” He meandered round the other side of controls,
“I wonder… maybe…” he flicked a series of switches, and red flecks appeared in the turquoise hue of the console, “…not.” He switched them back. The lone traveller mused a little way further around the central controls, pausing to analyse the machine’s data displayed on the TARDIS’ computer screen. He took a few steps further round, then suddenly dropped to his knees with a bang.
“Now, we’re getting somewhere!” There was a jubilant grin on the time-travellers face. He took off his jacket and threw it to the seat, across the console. It missed and landed with a crumpled heap on the floor. He left it there as he loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, before lifting two of the metal grids from the TARDIS floor. He clambered into the belly of the TARDIS, tinkering with all the ship’s workings. For once he had a completely contented grin spread across his face – deep inside his beautiful, beautiful TARDIS; deep within the only piece of home he had left…
____________________________*****
A while later, he shuffled into the culinary hub, tired and grubby, but happy. He’d spent over an hour underneath the floor, renewing the mercury in the fluid systems and patching up old circuit networks. He’d sorted most of the repair work and all it needed now was a short test run. He wondered where he might take it for a spin, as he pressed a button on the kitchen wall.
“Might take that trip to Barcelona,” he mused aloud as he pulled a steaming orange polka-dot mug from the cupboard. Placing the tea down on the table, he paused slightly before reaching for the fridge door. The cold metal… the gale. His fingers grasped the cold sides of the milk bottle and pulled it quickly off the shelf, letting the door close itself. Sighing, he quickly cleared away the remnants of that morning’s breakfast, and strolled down the corridor, mug in hand. He settled himself down on the console room chair and switched on one of the many television channels the TARDIS received, from all over the universe – and from every time zone.
“Urgh…” he muttered as a quiz show came on the screen, and right before his eyes a contestant was squished into green mush by the host. He flicked through channels, straight past the shopping channels – where you could buy horn warmers, made with the skins of Lava Slugs, encrusted in diamonds… if, of course, you wanted them. He flipped the channel over…
“Where the hell is UKTV Gold?” he murmured to himself. Then he heard a familiar sound - his head jerked up, eyes widened, his brow furrowed.
“What…?” The time rotor was moving, the dials were turning themselves…
“What the hell is happening?” he shouted, above the noise of the TARDIS. He leapt up and ran to the door and peered out of the window, but stepped back, the ship wasn’t dematerialising… he looked back in confusion at the engine, as it swelled upwards. The TARDIS wasn’t moving… but it was working. Then the cloister bell rang. The blue light on the console began to flash. Alarms, warnings; the time-traveller rushed to the controls of his ship. It meant danger, impending doom… but what from? Frantic, he tried to pull controls back, rushing around the central unit, maniacally pulling and twisting and flipping. He was concentrating so hard on stopping his time machine from flying off; he failed to notice the most important thing. Something was materialising… someone… on the TARDIS shelf, above his head. Kneeling, head bent down - a girl…
The girl… dark hair.