The Players
The Doctor, an intergalactic time traveler.
Frobisher, a shape shifting Wifferdill in the form of a Penguin.
A Mysterious Man in a Brown Durby.

        Pushing through the door marked “Men” the Doctor finds himself falling through a long dark tunnel with no end in sight.  After what seems like an eternity he suddenly comes to an abrupt stop as his body crashes into the floor.  Bright lights explode in his face as he quickly comes to his senses.  Jumping to his feet the Timelord scans his surroundings to get a fix on the situation. The bright theater-type lights shining in his eyes make it impossible to see, but then, he suddenly hears the sounds of clapping.  One or two hands at first, but then a torrent of applauds.  As the stage lights slowly dim, the Doctor sees he is standing in the middle of a huge stage.  The “audience,” for a lack of a better word, is comprised of all sorts of creatures from varying parts of the galaxy.  They were now on their feet, giving the Doctor a standing ovation.  From behind him, the sound of a single loud clap draws the Doctor’s attention.  The man with the little brown durby slowly walks out from behind the curtains, and the Doctor immediately recognizes his face.  “I have to admit Theta, that was the best dam show I ever put on.”
        “Drax!?”  The Doctor can hardy believe his eyes.  “What are you doing here?”  The last I saw of you, you were trying to work out a deal on Atrios.”  Staring the Doctor in the eye with his best business-like look on his face, The Doctor’s old university friend shoots him a broad smile.  “Yea, well...I finished with that piece of work.  I do tours now.”  “Tours?” the Doctor asks.  “Yea, you know.  Holiday kind of stuff,  Have an adventure for a weekend kind of things.”  “I see,” the Doctor replies, beginning to understand the situation.  Looking around, the Doctor takes in his surroundings.  He is standing on a theater stage complete with backdrops, stage lights, trap doors and scenery.  Pack to the balcony sits the “audience,” and off towards one side of the stage, happily munching on a hot dog and sipping a Coke, sits Frobisher.  “Yes,” the Doctor says slowly, “I’m beginning to see indeed.”
        Drax however, while pleased to see his ole friend, makes no secret of the fact that he things its time of the Doctor to leave.  “well now that that’s all cleared up I guess there’s nothing left to do but…”  “Let me see if I understand you correctly,” the Doctor interrupts.  “You make a deal with several alien planets to book holidays for their inhabitants.  Then you whisk them away, in your TARDIS I assume, to some unsuspecting planet, say Earth for instance, when you create implausible situations via a time bubble while your ‘guests’ interact within the scenario you’ve created. Is that it?”  Drax smiled at how easily the Doctor understood it all.  “Exactly!  And when all is said and done, I reverse the time bubble, reset the natives, so to speak, my tour group leaves, and no one is worst or wiser.”  “No one is worst or wiser!” the Doctor explodes.   “You’re playing with peoples lives here, you’re treating them as an amusement devise for your own personal gain!”  The Doctor was now shouting directly in Drax’s face.
         Drax shifts his weight from foot to foot, just as he used to do when he was called before Borusa back in their days at the Academy on Gallifrey. “Yea, well you could look at it like that,” he hesitates for a moment, then gives the Doctor his most enduring smile, “but I put it right when we’re finished.”  This was exactly the wrong thing to say to the Doctor at this point.  “Put it right when you’re finished!  PUT IT RIGHT WHEN YOU’RE FINISHED!!”  The doctor strolls up to Drax and begins stabbing at his chest with his index finger.  “You will return all of your ‘guests’ to their proper planet.  You will reset this little portion of Earth’s past back to the course it should be on, and you will never, and I do mean never, do this thing again!”  “Oh come on Thet, how’s a guy to make an honest living if he can’t…”  the Doctor was now face to face with his old school chum, and in a steady and low tone he says, “You will never do this again.  For if you do and I find out about it I will not only report this to the High Council but I will hunt you down.  And when I find you I will do things to you that will have you wish you were captured by the Daleks.”  “Now do I make myself clear?”
         Drax look sheepishly into the Doctor’s face.  He was about to make a protest but thought better of it.  Suddenly he addressed his audience, “okay you lot that’s it, shows over, the trans-TARDIS express is leaving.  Thank you for booking Drax Inter-dimensional Holidays.”  The audience gets up and begins to file out of the aisle and into what the Doctor had took as an old magician’s chest.  This of course was obviously Drax's TARDIS.  As the audience members filed out one by one they passed the rather angered Timelord, congratulating him on the best performance they had ever seen.  As the last of the creatures passed into Drax’s TARDIS, Drax gives the Doctor one last smile.  “You know Thet, you were a lot more fun before the regeneration.” As Drax begins to pop his head through the doorway the Doctor stops him.  “Not so fast!  Where is my TARDIS?”  Drax chuckles and slaps his hand against his head, “Oh yea right.  Sorry about that, almost forgot.  Its right back there is the storage room, stage right through the dressing rooms.  You can’t miss it.”  As Drax once again begins to exit himself the Doctor grabs his arm and holds him.  “Just one moment, if you’d be so kind.”  Reaching into his pockets the Doctor removes the TARDIS tracker and scans the empty theater.  The homing device begins to beep, indicating that the TARDIS is exactly where Drax said it was.  “You cut me to the quick,” Drax exclaims.  “Did you think I would lie to you?”  The Doctor gives Drax his most reassuring smile, “Not at all.  Not with your reputation.”  Letting go of Drax’s arm he adds, “remember what I told you.”  Drax nods and quickly retreats into his TARDIS.  With the typical grinding moan it dematerializes, leaving the Doctor alone on the stage.
         “Well Frobisher, I believe its time we put this unpleasantness behind us.  Frobisher?”  The Doctor looks around but his penguin companion is nowhere to be seen.  “Frobisher?” the Doctor calls, and he begins to search the back stage area. “Frobisher!”  From behind the dressing rooms he hears Frobisher answer his call.  “Hey Doc, I’m back here.”  Catching up with him the Doctor finds Frobisher standing next to the storage room door peering into its depths.  “Well?”  “Well I really didn’t trust that guy and all so I though I’d check out and see if the TARDIS was really safe myself.”  “Well is it?” the Doctor asks. Frobisher tries to give the Doctor a reassuring smile, at least as reassuring as a person with a beak could manage a smile.  “Yes and no.”  “Yes and no?”  The Doctor was quickly losing his patience.  “Well its safe all right, but there seems to be a small problem.”  The Doctor begins to push his way passed his companion to see this “problem” for himself, but Frobisher refuses to budge.  “I really think that maybe we should go and get a couple of drinks, maybe have something to eat, see a ball game.”  By now the Doctor’s patience had grown thin, and the last thing he wanted was to “see a ball game” with a five foot penguin. “Frobisher,” the Doctor says through clenched teeth, “either you move away from that door or the world will be short one highly over rated shape-changing detective!” “Okay, okay,” Frobisher says, backing slowly away from the storage room door.  “But just remember, years from now we’re gonna be laughing about this.”  Pushing past his companion the Doctor rips open the door and enters the storage room.
         The room was large, several hundred of feet both long and wide.  The TARDIS was definitely there all right, alone with several hundred London Metropolitan Police Boxes.  The room was filled with them, all stacked neatly in several hundred rows.  Taking the TARDIS key from his pocket, the Doctor begins the daunting task of trying the key in the cylinder of each one.

Story © 2002 John Rocco Roberto.