The Girl Who Escaped Into Space and Time

The halls of the TARDIS were like a maze, twisting and turning in unexpected directions, in directions that confused Sarah a bit. She’d started to get more used to the whole bigger on the inside thing, trying not to think too much about the time machine’s interior defying the laws of nature, but it was full of surprises still. For example, it was sentient. How exactly, she wasn’t sure, but the TARDIS was very much alive, according to the Doctor. It didn’t speak like they did, but certainly had a mind of its own.

“She’ll find you a nice room,” assured the Doctor, leading her down one hall. Around them, a low whirring could be heard, the Doctor chuckling in response. “This one,” he said, pointing to a door, one carved and finished with nice wood, standing out in contrast to the more standard metal doors they’d passed.

“How do you know?”

“She told me.” He said it so effortlessly, as if there was nothing strange about a massive time machine speaking to him.

Sarah turned the handle, the door opening into a large room lit in the same soft orange light as the TARDIS control room, only more muted. In the center of the room lay a massive, queen-sized bed, decked out with a myriad of plush pillows and thick bedding, and lights like paper lanterns hung scattered on the ceiling above.

“Do you just have a bunch of rooms like this?” she asked. “All fancy like and whatnot?”

The Doctor was taken aback by her question. “Well, of course I do! Guests and visitors, travelling companions, they stay for awhile, where are they supposed to sleep? The console room?”

“I mean, that chair you have in there does look pretty comfortable,” Sarah admitted with a shrug. “But right now, just about any place I can rest looks comfortable.”

There was a brief pause, and the two of them laughed.

“Thank you,” she said. “Really, Doctor. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be off now, leave you to sleep. If you need anything, the console room is just down the hall.” And, with saying that and a wave of the hand, the Time Lord took his leave, sauntering down the TARDIS halls, out of eyesight of the young traveller.

She closed the door, undressed, and searched the massive wardrobe for sleepwear, settling on a simple two piece pajama set. The material was pale blue with white stripes and light, though the TARDIS was warm and the bed filled with plenty of blankets.

She was about to settle into the bed and take on her way to dreamland, the switch was conveniently placed at the bedside, when she happened to glance at the ceiling, and was glad she did so. The entirety of it was painted with a massive star map; stars she didn’t even recognize, unfamiliar constellations, and in the place of suns for these unknown solar systems were ceiling lamps, some large and some small, but so many that they lit the room the same as a normal ceiling lamp would.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” She’d seen the Doctor talking to the TARDIS before, and although she never heard it speak back, she had no doubt that it was indeed alive. It had chosen this room for her, after all.

There were no spoken words of reply, but the room around her made a sort of whirring sound, like that of a relaxed machine, similarly to a car engine on idle. Sarah clambered into bed, laying upon the nest of pillows and blankets, all of which smelled fresh as if they’d just been washed that day. I wonder what kind of laundry detergent he uses, she wondered idly. It smelled like fresh air and something else, something strange and alien and friendly.

She pulled one particularly fluffy blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.

That night, Sarah slept soundly, woken not by sunlight or loud noises but by the smell of something good cooking and the faint strains of music. She got up and out of bed, dressing with clothes from the wardrobe — a cable-knit sweater and some jeans that fit just right — and left the bedroom. The sounds and smells guided her through the halls, leading to an open kitchen door.

It wasn’t a typical, run-of-the-mill kitchen, nothing like the one in her home. No, it was oddly shaped, cupboards and drawers towering to the ceiling, some of them only accessible by ladder, a six-burner stove with bizarre-looking burners and a round stove part that was bulbous like the body of a woodstove. On one burner sat a pan, sausages sizzling away, and on the counter among dustings of flour sat a kettle, water boiling happily within. The Doctor stood at a counter at the other end of the kitchen, his back to Sarah, wearing a bright orange welding gown. There was a bit of flour in his hair, and his attention was focused on a bowl he was whisking. He turned around when he heard her enter, his expression lighting up.

“Come on in!” he called out from the other side of the kitchen, waving her over with a free arm. “Breakfast is almost ready!”

Sarah smirked, stifling a giggle. “I think you’ve got something in your hair.”

The Doctor’s barely-there eyebrows furrowed together, before he huffed. It didn’t bother him.

“What’s with the welding getup?”

“Couldn’t find an apron,” he said with a shrug.

She helped him finish cooking, and they ate breakfast in the kitchen, leaning against a cleaner section of the counter since there was no dining area. Sarah chatted away about how nicely she had slept for her first night in an alien spaceship, about the lovely light mural on the ceiling, and how accommodating the TARDIS had been with everything. When she asked the Doctor how such a haphazard-looking cooking process could turn out tasting like gourmet, he shared his experience on the planet Ergenstadt, of the culinary masters he'd learned from in his time there.

“Of course they're some of the finest, they have four arms after all. So much more you can do with an extra set, amateur or expert.”

The two of them finished eating, and did the dishes together afterward. Sarah was leaning against the counter, drying a pan off with a dish towel when the Doctor spoke up.

“Where would you like to go next?”

For a moment or two, Sarah wasn’t sure what to say. She was standing in a time machine with — as far as she knew — limitless travel capabilities next to an eccentric alien, able to go anywhere and anytime in the whole universe, and couldn’t think of an interesting destination. It was like when someone asked her what her favorite movie was and suddenly she forgot each one she’d ever seen. But then, the answer came to her, nearly impossible to be missed.

“The TARDIS,” she said finally. “All those doors we passed last night, how far do the halls go? How many rooms? It’s bigger on the inside, sure, but how much bigger?”

“So we’re looking for the grand tour, are we? That one’s a bit uncommon, most people usually want to see the Stone Age or the end of the universe—” The Doctor caught himself mid-sentence, quickly halting the rambling. “Right, yes, the TARDIS. Well then, er, I suppose we should start with the console room, or the front door? Not outside, though, that wouldn’t end well. We’re sort of in space after all.”

And so they started with the console room, the Doctor throwing the front doors open wide, gesturing to the expanse of stars and nebulae that lay before them. While she stared out, taking it all in, he ducked under the main control board, quickly grabbing the trusty fez that he tucked away for special occasions. Sarah cocked an eyebrow, gesturing to his choice of headgear, but with a very convincing tone, the Doctor explained to her just how cool fezzes were, and how important they were to any tour guide, no matter where they were.

He gave a brief summary of where in space they were, which galaxy, and a bit of history on its formation before moving on. When he got to the console, though, Sarah found the Doctor stuttered a bit about its origins, where it was built and engineered, but did not veer further when he skipped over some of the details. She’d noticed in the short time they’d been traveling together that he preferred not to talk of his home and people, and while she was definitely curious about that, Sarah respected his choices and did not pry any further. If and when he ever chose to speak up about those things, he would choose the time, not her.

Rather than its origins, the Doctor focused more on the TARDIS’s capabilities, what some of the tools on its dash were used for, a brief summary of how it worked. Sarah hardly understood, but she was still fascinated nonetheless, and listened intently.

They moved along their way, the Doctor taking particular interest in the library/swimming pool as they passed it. “Personal favorite,” he commented. “First one I visited in this regeneration, actually. Fell right in there.” It was a massive library, bookshelves forming a maze of sorts that twisted and turned in whimsical paths, and in its very center was an enormous swimming pool, lit from beneath the water. Oddly enough, the smell of chlorine wasn’t as strong as she’d expected; it did not drown out the scent of old pages but rather coexisted with it. The ceiling reached far above them, curving upwards like the interior of a cathedral with skylight windows, outside of which shone the stars of a night sky far from home. Being rather fond of libraries, Sarah made a mental note to return in the future for a read and a swim.

On they went, stopping at the observatory with its massive golden telescope, the generator room with its metal grated floors and steam-spitting pipes, the TARDIS wardrobe with its spindly spiral stairs and rows of racks of clothes, and even a storage room that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. They passed through chamber after chamber, some mundane as could be and others structured with bizarre alien technology that Sarah was in no way familiar with. It fascinated her and boggled her mind.

A few hours had passed exploring, and she decided in the end that she wanted to see more of the swimming pool/library. She didn’t really think she’d need the Doctor showing her the way, as she remembered which door led to her destination; the door was only a frame after all. The TARDIS halls twisted and turned in all sorts of odd ways as she traversed them, but within a few minutes or so, she smelled the all-familiar scent of chlorine, and followed it.

The chamber itself was absolutely enormous, a labyrinth of shelves and books, and the only sound coming from her footfalls and the sound of the water splashing against the edge of the pool. Upon a closer inspection, Sarah noticed how this library didn't follow the typical organizational system, nor were the books in shambles. She was quite fond of libraries, hoping one day to work as a librarian, so she knew her stuff when it came to the Dewey decimal system. Whatever method the Doctor used to categorize his library, it wasn't one Sarah was familiar with, so rather than trying to find a specific section, she wandered the shelves, looking for anything that might pique her interest.

His categorization system confused her, biographies mixed in with poetry and atlases, languages of all sorts thrown together on the shelves. Sarah couldn't imagine how he found anything he was looking for, until she started looking inside covers and it made sense in an ironic sort of way. The Doctor organized chronologically. There were no signs on shelves to indicate this, but being a very old and very intelligent alien, she figured he didn't need them. As she perused the shelves, taking this information in, she suddenly knew exactly what she was looking for.

Farther back, the shelves got dustier and bindings became rolled parchments and even some stone tablets (which were safely held in glass display cases). She wasn't sure of the exact time, but the old feel of the etchings said something about when their contents were written. Sarah withdrew a roll of parchment, handling the rather stiff material with the utmost care, and eased it open.

The TARDIS must have had some sort of translation function installed, Sarah figured, when she found that she could read the ancient Greek and Egyptian text as if it were English. She still couldn't believe it; she was holding an artifact from the library of Alexandria and could easily understand what it said. One of history's greatest losses, and part of it shared a library with some first edition Agatha Christie mysteries and translucent digital datapads.

From what she could tell, it was a script for a play, something like the ancient Greek tragedies she had to study for one of her English classes, like Oedipus and Antigone. Sarah carefully took it over to one of the seats in the library and began to read, poring over the perfectly preserved text. In a rather short amount of time, she finished it, returned it to its place and continued to peruse.

A couple of hours later found Sarah sitting in the open TARDIS doorway, a blanket draped over her shoulders, legs hanging out of the frame and into space, eyes drifting over one of Da Vinci’s notebooks. She didn’t exactly understand all of his coded writing, but regardless found herself marvelling at his intricate sketches and diagrams of anatomy, inventions and imagination. All was silent around her, save for the ambient hum of the console, beeping and whirring in the background. Sarah didn’t even notice the Doctor until he sat down next to her, offering a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“Da Vinci, huh?”

Sarah closed the book, taking the warm mug with a smile. “Thank you, Doctor. And yes, I still can’t believe you have an original copy.”

The Doctor sat down behind her, legs crossed and leaning forward just a bit out into space. “Well you know,” he said. “Time machine.”

“What was he like?” asked Sarah.

“Mmm, interesting for sure. Brilliant mind, very imaginative, very gay.” He said that matter-of-factly, without a hint of discrimination. “Flirted with me a bit, actually. Couldn’t mess with the stream of time though, you know how that tends to go. Wasn’t really my type anyway.”

“Yeah, like in movies where you step on a butterfly and suddenly Hitler won World War II...or something like that. I getcha.” She sat back a bit, book in her lap, propping herself up with her arms. “That’s just an everyday thing for you, though? Just bopping around time and space, that’s what you do, that’s how you live?”

“Pretty much.”

“No responsibilities, no being tied down to a house and a city, and if you make a mistake, you can just go back and fix it. That sounds great.”

“Well,” interrupted the Doctor. “It’s not exactly like that. I do have responsibilities, and you can’t exactly just go back in time for the little things. A bit more complicated than that, but...essentially yes.”

She hummed in reply, not really saying much but there wasn’t a whole lot to be said. They just sort of sat there, sipping their hot chocolate in peaceful silence and enjoying the view of the galaxies that lay outside the door.