From whofic.com
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In the often erratic time and space machine called Tardis, the interior of which confounded all but the most refined logic by being many times larger than the exterior, the white-haired old traveller called Dr Who and his granddaughter Susan stood by the craft’s six-sided control panel, getting their breath back.
‘That was very close, Grandfather,’ Susan gasped. She was a slender young girl with short, dark hair and elfin features.
‘I can’t disagree with that, child,’ the Doctor replied, with feeling.
‘We nearly lost the Ship for good.’
‘Quite so, quite so.’ Dr Who stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘A fascinating world, though. Quite fascinating.’
Susan flashed him a quirky, engaging grin. ‘I loved the copper-coloured sky.’
Dr Who smiled fondly at her. They were two of a kind. The quest for knowledge and new experiences was always uppermost and the related dangers were invariably risen above. Their escape from the planet Quinnis, in the Fourth Universe, had nonetheless been especially tight. Very tight indeed.
Perhaps they would both benefit from a period of rest. He could make a few repairs to the Tardis at the same time. He smiled as he suddenly recalled the occasion when Susan had made up the unusual name of their remarkable craft from the initial letters of Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.
They had spoken of having a little relaxation quite a number of times before, of course, but the idea had only very rarely come to fruition.
‘We do have a tendency to run into trouble,’ he admitted.
Perhaps that was inevitable, thought Susan, for two wanderers through the fourth and fifth dimensions.
Scenes from their recent destinations flitted across her mind. Tudor England; Grandfather throwing a parson’s nose at King Henry VIII to induce the enormous and terrifying monarch to commit them to the Tower of London, where they had left the Ship; their unusually tranquil stay at Jabalhabad, India in 1843; the colourful and eventful reminiscences of Siger Holmes, British Army officer and father-to-be of the famous Sherlock; a Zeppelin raid at Burton-upon-Trent in 1916; Miss Hilda Hogg, a young cook, sheltering them in her employers’ kitchen; the green planet called Esto; the earsplitting screeches from two telepathic plants when she stood between them and quite unintentionally cut off their communication.
The high-pitched grinding sound that accompanied materialisation filled the room, then died away as the round glass column in the centre of the control panel ceased to rise and fall. They had arrived at another destination already.
Dr Who turned on the scanner-screen, but it displayed only flickering, horizontal white lines on a black background.
Susan sighed. ‘That’s something else out of order.’
‘How very tiresome,’ grumbled the Doctor.
‘The air is breathable.’ Susan looked up from the controls. ‘Shall we risk a look outside?’
Dr Who responded by turning a black switch. The great doors swung open and they stepped cautiously into the new environment.
The Tardis possessed the ability to change its outside appearance to blend with new surroundings. It had now assumed the shape of a blue police telephone box, rather old and battered, and stood in a dilapidated yard that was positively choked with a wide range of junk.
‘A rag and bone yard,’ the Doctor told Susan.
Susan laughed. ‘A what?’
‘A scrapyard. A repository for discarded items,’ elucidated Dr Who.
