November 1963, Aldgate Army Barracks
Captain Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart yawned, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes again as he looked around a briefing room that was crowded with junior officers. Many of them were still adjusting ties and fastening tunic buttons. All of them looked as puzzled as Alistair felt. “It’s three a.m.,” he muttered, as his friend Joe Macklin handed him a mug of coffee and dropped into the chair next to him, “What the hell do you suppose is so important that it can’t wait till the morning briefing?”
Macklin shook his head. “You’re asking me to think? I can barely hold on to being conscious.”
Alistair took a sip of his coffee and stared across at the map of central London that had been pinned up at the front of the room. “Looks like some sort of perimeter marked on there,” he said, “You don’t suppose the Russians…?”
Coffee spilled as he slammed the mug down onto the table beside him, and jumped to his feet along with every other Captain and Lieutenant in the room. Colonel Rutlidge bowled through the door like an eager bulldog, an adjutant at his heels clutching paperwork.
“At ease!” roared Rutlidge, as he stepped up onto the raised platform next to the map. He glared around the room for a moment, in the manner of a man searching for trouble, then waved a hand. “Be seated.” The adjutant proffered a sheet of paper, and he snatched it, cleared his throat, and launched straight into the briefing. “At oh-two-thirty hours this morning, the Ministry of Defence issued the following orders under the Peacetime Nuclear Accident Provisions: ‘Everyone living within a three mile radius of Coal Hill School and 76 Totter's Lane must be evacuated from the area’.”
“Coal Hill?” Macklin’s voice was low and Alistair had to strain to catch his next words. “That’s where that kid disappeared from last month.”
Alistair nodded, remembering. A teenage schoolgirl and two teachers had all apparently vanished off the face of the earth. The Army had helped the Police scour the area, but no-one had found anything, there were no cars reported missing, and the only oddity was the reported disappearance of a Police Telephone Box from a junkyard on Totter’s Lane. Strange, thought Alistair, that those two addresses should be the focus of attention again only a few weeks later.
Rutlidge was still talking. “Each of you will take fifty men, and liaise with the local police to evacuate all premises within the area shown here.” He jabbed at the map on the wall as though it was entirely to blame for getting him out of bed at such a ridiculous hour. “I’ve divided the area into sectors, get your assignments from Lieutenant Turner as you leave. I expect you all to be under way by oh-three-thirty. Report progress to Group Captain Gilmore at Intrusion Countermeasures Group, he’s in charge of the show. His radio frequency and call sign are included in your briefing packs. Are there any questions?”
“Yes, sir.” Alistair stood up as he spoke, hoping his tie was straight. Emergency or no emergency, Rutlidge wouldn’t tolerate sloppy dressing. “Why is the RAF leading a ground-based operation? Surely the bomb squad…”
“… will be involved as and when necessary, Lethbridge-Stewart.” Rutlidge’s scowl indicated that he rather thought he ought to be in charge of operations himself, but as his gaze raked over the room his voice was firm: “This comes from the Minister. Group Captain Gilmore is officer commanding. Your duty, all of you, is to assist the Police in clearing the area and report when your sector has been evacuated. Any other questions?”
What’s the point? thought Alistair, You didn’t answer the last one.
Chairs scraped as Rutlidge dismissed them and everyone filed out, collecting their briefing papers from Jimmy Turner en route.
“Trust you,” said Macklin, peeking over Alistair’s shoulder as he flicked through his assignment. “I get the hospital and three tower blocks. You get factories, a cemetery and a couple of schools.”
“One of which is Coal Hill,” said Alistair, pointing at his map, “So if the place does happen to blow sky high, I die first.”
Macklin clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll drink to your memory.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Joe. That’s such a comfort.”
*****
“Campbell, after him! You too, Ross.”
At Alistair’s order, the two squaddies tumbled out of the back of the Land Rover and pelted off down the street. The oddly-dressed man they’d seen emerging from the cemetery had looked astonished when Alistair had called over to him from the rolling vehicle. He’d raised his hat, tugged at his ill-fitting cream jacket, and had at first appeared to be listening as the Captain had explained that the area was being evacuated. Then, as they’d stopped the vehicle to help him in, he’d shouted, “No, no! We can’t do this now!” and hared off down an alleyway.
“Alright, the rest of you check the Church and the cemetery, see if there’s anyone else around.” Alistair climbed out of the passenger seat, unfolded his map and looked about, while his driver and the rest of the men he had with him jumped out of the vehicle and made their way over to the cemetery gates. “And get a move on!” he yelled, “We haven’t got all day!”
There was a row of shops further down the road, on the opposite side to the cemetery, and Alistair put the map back into his pocket and jogged along the pavement toward them. There was a jeweller’s on the corner, and he rattled the grille to make sure it was secure. Weak sunlight picked out a few necklaces at the front of the main window, and Alistair squinted through the bars at the prices. Doris’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks and he’d only been able to secure a 48-hour pass. A pretty pendant like the one in the display would – he hoped - help ease her disappointment at not getting to Paris. Again.
He checked the name of the side street, so that he’d be able to find the place again when it was open. Abbeyfield Road. There were Georgian-style houses to his left - one of them covered in scaffolding, all with their doors marked with chalk to indicate they’d been checked - and a sunken pavement to his right with railings running along one side. A little way along it was a Police Box – in need of a lick of paint by the looks of it. Alistair frowned, remembering the story of the Box that had vanished from Totter’s Lane. The one on the pavement looked battered enough to have been hauled onto a truck and dumped here, though why anyone would want to do that was beyond him. All the same, he moved a few paces nearer and placed a hand on the panelling.
It was warm to the touch, and felt smoother than it looked; and it didn’t hum exactly but it felt…
“Captain!”
He pulled his hand away, and returned to the corner, where his driver stood, panting. Alistair made a mental note to improve fitness levels once this crisis was over. “What is it, Corporal?”
“Sir! There’s… a body. In the cemetery.”
Alistair drew himself up, put his hands behind his back, and sighed. “Are you trying to be funny, MacDonald?”
“No sir! Really – there’s a man there, over near the other gates. He’s keeled over on one of the graves. Heart attack, looks like.” The Corporal had got his breath back, and Alistair waited to see if there was more. There was. “We found the vicar in the Church, Scott and Murray are bringing him, he’s blind. Just finished a funeral, he says, but there’s no sign of a burial party. This other chap though…”
“You’re quite sure he’s dead?”
“Oh yes, sir. Stone cold he is, not breathing, no pulse. What should we do, sir?”
Why, wondered Alistair, was nothing ever straightforward? “Well, we can’t very well put him in the Land Rover, and the trucks are still busy clearing those factory workers.” He jerked a thumb. “Get on the RT, call Captain Macklin. He’s evacuating the hospital in the next sector, ask him to send an ambulance and a stretcher. I’ll finish checking these shops.”
As MacDonald saluted and ran back to the Land Rover, Campbell and Ross returned from their chase, approaching along Abbeyfield Road. “We didn’t lose him, sir,” called Ross, before Alistair could ask. “Some fly-boy in a bomber jacket appeared just as we were catching up to the little bloke, and said they were both with this INCG outfit or whatever they’re called.”
Campbell nodded, reinforcing the message. “He’d got ID, sir. Told us to not go any further that way.”
He pointed along the pavement in the direction of the Police Box, and Alistair nodded and pulled the map from his pocket. “Yes, the school’s over there.” He looked up, in time to see a group of his men ushering an elderly man in dark glasses and a dog-collar toward the back of the Land Rover. “You lot! Not in the back, you idiots! Put him in the front seat! The front.” There was no traffic to drown his words, but the wind rustled the trees and fluttered his map and, as the men paused uncertainly, he realised he wasn’t getting through. “Go and tell them, Ross. Then have MacDonald pull up here. Campbell, let’s get the rest of these shops checked while we’re waiting.”
All the shops were locked, some of them shuttered, and Alistair pulled his pencil from his top pocket and jotted a note on his list. “Out, all of you,” he ordered, as the Land Rover drew up. “Not you, MacDonald. You drive the vicar to the assembly point and see he’s looked after. The rest of us will check the remaining residential streets on foot.” He walked around to the passenger side and reached through the open window to put a hand on the priest’s arm. “Corporal MacDonald will make sure you get a comfortable chair and a cup of tea, sir.” Checking the time, he nodded to MacDonald. “We’ll see you at the assembly point in an hour.”
He stepped back to allow the vehicle to pull away, briefed the rest of the men on which streets to cover, and took a last glance back at Abbeyfield Road. He wanted to make sure he remembered the name of the jeweller’s shop; but it was the Police Box that tugged at his attention. He took a step towards it, but as he did so one his men shouted, “Sir?” and Alistair smiled at his own foolishness, shook his head and ran to catch up with the squad.
*****
Five Days Later
The road by the cemetery was busy. Cars, taxis and double-decker buses vied for space, their wheels throwing up spray from wet tarmac. A fire engine charged by, its bell clanging. A small boy in shiny red wellies squealed with delight as he jumped into a puddle on the pavement. His mother seemed rather less amused.
The rain had cleared though, and Alistair paused on the corner of Abbeyfield Road to furl his umbrella. As he turned to enter the jeweller’s shop, he glanced along the road and caught sight of the Police Box that had seemed so strange to him a few days before. Now, it just seemed part of the normality, albeit a rather scruffy one. He checked his watch. Two hours before he was rostered for duty. Plenty of time.
The necklace he’d seen in the window was a little beyond his pay cheque, but the jeweller found a similar one at a price Alistair could afford.
“An elegant choice, sir.” The grey-haired man peered over half-moon glasses as he spoke. “I’m sure the lady will be delighted. I’ll just find the box…” He stopped, tilting his head slightly and adjusting his gaze to look toward the window. “What is that noise?”
Alistair could hear it too, a wheezing, scraping sound in the distance. “Whatever it is, it needs oiling,” he said.
Outside, another fire engine clanged past and, by the time the echo of its bell had faded, so too had the strange noise. Alistair thought no more about it till he’d paid for the necklace, pocketed the velvet-lined box, and exited the shop. A few paces down the road, he halted, turned slowly around to check he was in the right place, and stared at the houses lining the street.
In the time it had taken him to buy a present for his girlfriend, the battered Police Box had disappeared.
*****
*****
Carbury Archaeological Dig, Thirty Years Later
Alistair knelt beside the prone form in the ill-fitting brown jacket, and waited till the man looked up before saying: “I just can’t let you out of my sight, can I Doctor?”
“Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart!” The Doctor’s face was a picture of delighted surprise. “You recognise me then?”
Alistair smiled, remembering a deserted road outside a cemetery in Shoreditch, a fleeing figure shouting “No, no! We can’t do this now!” and a Police Box that vanished from a road outside a jeweller’s shop thirty years ago. “Yes. Who else would it be?”
The Doctor got to his feet and brushed himself off, then bent down to pick up the device that the Brigadier had stepped on. He examined it for a moment, then threw it aside, picked up his umbrella and moved toward the doorway. “I think we can get out of here now.”
“Wait a minute!” Alistair pointed at the armour-clad body in the middle of the chamber. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Oh, uh… Brigadier – King Arthur. King Arthur – Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, a fellow-warrior you’d probably insist on knighting. There, that’s the formalities dispensed with. Let’s go.”
“But…”
“Come along, Brigadier, my assistant’s in trouble out there.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Plus ça change…” He waited for a moment, added, “And you’re welcome,” to the Doctor’s retreating back, and followed after. As they hurried down the spiral staircase, he said, “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? This particular face, I mean.”
“Ah.” The Doctor glanced over his shoulder. “I wondered whether you’d remember that. Sorry I had to run, but I couldn’t allow you to meet me in 1963. It would have caused all sorts of ripples in the timestream.”
“Saw your TARDIS too,” said Alistair, as he climbed out of the carved dragon’s mouth into the next chamber. “Of course at the time I thought it was a Police Box, but …”
The Doctor had been about to step into the concrete tunnel that led to the surface, but as Alistair spoke he stopped, whirled around, and held up a forefinger, a thoughtful look on his face. “Did you, by any chance, touch it?”
“What earthly difference does it make whether I…?”
The Doctor stepped toward him. “Did you?”
Alistair braced his hands on his hips. “I really can’t see why it matters, Doctor, but since you ask, yes, I touched it. Why?”
“Because she recognised you, Brigadier, and interacted with you.” The Doctor wagged his raised finger dismissively, before Alistair could issue a denial. “Oh, not in a way you’d be aware of - not consciously. But when you met me in the underground a few years later, and I told you that I had a time machine that looked like a Police Box, you accepted it without question, didn’t you?”
“The situation was desperate, Doctor, you offered me a straw to clutch at.”
The Doctor shook his head and patted Alistair’s arm. “You knew. You didn’t know that you knew, but the belief was there all the same.” He smiled. “And all this time, I thought it was my snappy dress and natural charm that persuaded you I was telling the truth.”
Alistair managed not to laugh out loud. “Snappy dress?”
But the Doctor had already spun away and was scrambling through the tunnel. “Come on, we’ve wasted enough time! We need to get to the lake!”
“Of course we do.” Alistair ducked his head and stepped into the tunnel. Already today he had more questions than he knew he’d ever get answered, but he didn’t mind. He and the Doctor had come full circle – meeting underground once again, connecting dots they hadn’t known existed – and their adventures clearly hadn’t finished yet.
It has a lot to answer for, that blue box, he thought, as he followed the Doctor into the daylight, And I wouldn’t swap a single moment.
** THE END **
[Disclaimer: I do not own Dr Who or any rights to it. The above story was written for fun and entered in a not-for-profit fan competition]
Captain Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart yawned, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes again as he looked around a briefing room that was crowded with junior officers. Many of them were still adjusting ties and fastening tunic buttons. All of them looked as puzzled as Alistair felt. “It’s three a.m.,” he muttered, as his friend Joe Macklin handed him a mug of coffee and dropped into the chair next to him, “What the hell do you suppose is so important that it can’t wait till the morning briefing?”
Macklin shook his head. “You’re asking me to think? I can barely hold on to being conscious.”
Alistair took a sip of his coffee and stared across at the map of central London that had been pinned up at the front of the room. “Looks like some sort of perimeter marked on there,” he said, “You don’t suppose the Russians…?”
Coffee spilled as he slammed the mug down onto the table beside him, and jumped to his feet along with every other Captain and Lieutenant in the room. Colonel Rutlidge bowled through the door like an eager bulldog, an adjutant at his heels clutching paperwork.
“At ease!” roared Rutlidge, as he stepped up onto the raised platform next to the map. He glared around the room for a moment, in the manner of a man searching for trouble, then waved a hand. “Be seated.” The adjutant proffered a sheet of paper, and he snatched it, cleared his throat, and launched straight into the briefing. “At oh-two-thirty hours this morning, the Ministry of Defence issued the following orders under the Peacetime Nuclear Accident Provisions: ‘Everyone living within a three mile radius of Coal Hill School and 76 Totter's Lane must be evacuated from the area’.”
“Coal Hill?” Macklin’s voice was low and Alistair had to strain to catch his next words. “That’s where that kid disappeared from last month.”
Alistair nodded, remembering. A teenage schoolgirl and two teachers had all apparently vanished off the face of the earth. The Army had helped the Police scour the area, but no-one had found anything, there were no cars reported missing, and the only oddity was the reported disappearance of a Police Telephone Box from a junkyard on Totter’s Lane. Strange, thought Alistair, that those two addresses should be the focus of attention again only a few weeks later.
Rutlidge was still talking. “Each of you will take fifty men, and liaise with the local police to evacuate all premises within the area shown here.” He jabbed at the map on the wall as though it was entirely to blame for getting him out of bed at such a ridiculous hour. “I’ve divided the area into sectors, get your assignments from Lieutenant Turner as you leave. I expect you all to be under way by oh-three-thirty. Report progress to Group Captain Gilmore at Intrusion Countermeasures Group, he’s in charge of the show. His radio frequency and call sign are included in your briefing packs. Are there any questions?”
“Yes, sir.” Alistair stood up as he spoke, hoping his tie was straight. Emergency or no emergency, Rutlidge wouldn’t tolerate sloppy dressing. “Why is the RAF leading a ground-based operation? Surely the bomb squad…”
“… will be involved as and when necessary, Lethbridge-Stewart.” Rutlidge’s scowl indicated that he rather thought he ought to be in charge of operations himself, but as his gaze raked over the room his voice was firm: “This comes from the Minister. Group Captain Gilmore is officer commanding. Your duty, all of you, is to assist the Police in clearing the area and report when your sector has been evacuated. Any other questions?”
What’s the point? thought Alistair, You didn’t answer the last one.
Chairs scraped as Rutlidge dismissed them and everyone filed out, collecting their briefing papers from Jimmy Turner en route.
“Trust you,” said Macklin, peeking over Alistair’s shoulder as he flicked through his assignment. “I get the hospital and three tower blocks. You get factories, a cemetery and a couple of schools.”
“One of which is Coal Hill,” said Alistair, pointing at his map, “So if the place does happen to blow sky high, I die first.”
Macklin clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll drink to your memory.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Joe. That’s such a comfort.”
*****
“Campbell, after him! You too, Ross.”
At Alistair’s order, the two squaddies tumbled out of the back of the Land Rover and pelted off down the street. The oddly-dressed man they’d seen emerging from the cemetery had looked astonished when Alistair had called over to him from the rolling vehicle. He’d raised his hat, tugged at his ill-fitting cream jacket, and had at first appeared to be listening as the Captain had explained that the area was being evacuated. Then, as they’d stopped the vehicle to help him in, he’d shouted, “No, no! We can’t do this now!” and hared off down an alleyway.
“Alright, the rest of you check the Church and the cemetery, see if there’s anyone else around.” Alistair climbed out of the passenger seat, unfolded his map and looked about, while his driver and the rest of the men he had with him jumped out of the vehicle and made their way over to the cemetery gates. “And get a move on!” he yelled, “We haven’t got all day!”
There was a row of shops further down the road, on the opposite side to the cemetery, and Alistair put the map back into his pocket and jogged along the pavement toward them. There was a jeweller’s on the corner, and he rattled the grille to make sure it was secure. Weak sunlight picked out a few necklaces at the front of the main window, and Alistair squinted through the bars at the prices. Doris’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks and he’d only been able to secure a 48-hour pass. A pretty pendant like the one in the display would – he hoped - help ease her disappointment at not getting to Paris. Again.
He checked the name of the side street, so that he’d be able to find the place again when it was open. Abbeyfield Road. There were Georgian-style houses to his left - one of them covered in scaffolding, all with their doors marked with chalk to indicate they’d been checked - and a sunken pavement to his right with railings running along one side. A little way along it was a Police Box – in need of a lick of paint by the looks of it. Alistair frowned, remembering the story of the Box that had vanished from Totter’s Lane. The one on the pavement looked battered enough to have been hauled onto a truck and dumped here, though why anyone would want to do that was beyond him. All the same, he moved a few paces nearer and placed a hand on the panelling.
It was warm to the touch, and felt smoother than it looked; and it didn’t hum exactly but it felt…
“Captain!”
He pulled his hand away, and returned to the corner, where his driver stood, panting. Alistair made a mental note to improve fitness levels once this crisis was over. “What is it, Corporal?”
“Sir! There’s… a body. In the cemetery.”
Alistair drew himself up, put his hands behind his back, and sighed. “Are you trying to be funny, MacDonald?”
“No sir! Really – there’s a man there, over near the other gates. He’s keeled over on one of the graves. Heart attack, looks like.” The Corporal had got his breath back, and Alistair waited to see if there was more. There was. “We found the vicar in the Church, Scott and Murray are bringing him, he’s blind. Just finished a funeral, he says, but there’s no sign of a burial party. This other chap though…”
“You’re quite sure he’s dead?”
“Oh yes, sir. Stone cold he is, not breathing, no pulse. What should we do, sir?”
Why, wondered Alistair, was nothing ever straightforward? “Well, we can’t very well put him in the Land Rover, and the trucks are still busy clearing those factory workers.” He jerked a thumb. “Get on the RT, call Captain Macklin. He’s evacuating the hospital in the next sector, ask him to send an ambulance and a stretcher. I’ll finish checking these shops.”
As MacDonald saluted and ran back to the Land Rover, Campbell and Ross returned from their chase, approaching along Abbeyfield Road. “We didn’t lose him, sir,” called Ross, before Alistair could ask. “Some fly-boy in a bomber jacket appeared just as we were catching up to the little bloke, and said they were both with this INCG outfit or whatever they’re called.”
Campbell nodded, reinforcing the message. “He’d got ID, sir. Told us to not go any further that way.”
He pointed along the pavement in the direction of the Police Box, and Alistair nodded and pulled the map from his pocket. “Yes, the school’s over there.” He looked up, in time to see a group of his men ushering an elderly man in dark glasses and a dog-collar toward the back of the Land Rover. “You lot! Not in the back, you idiots! Put him in the front seat! The front.” There was no traffic to drown his words, but the wind rustled the trees and fluttered his map and, as the men paused uncertainly, he realised he wasn’t getting through. “Go and tell them, Ross. Then have MacDonald pull up here. Campbell, let’s get the rest of these shops checked while we’re waiting.”
All the shops were locked, some of them shuttered, and Alistair pulled his pencil from his top pocket and jotted a note on his list. “Out, all of you,” he ordered, as the Land Rover drew up. “Not you, MacDonald. You drive the vicar to the assembly point and see he’s looked after. The rest of us will check the remaining residential streets on foot.” He walked around to the passenger side and reached through the open window to put a hand on the priest’s arm. “Corporal MacDonald will make sure you get a comfortable chair and a cup of tea, sir.” Checking the time, he nodded to MacDonald. “We’ll see you at the assembly point in an hour.”
He stepped back to allow the vehicle to pull away, briefed the rest of the men on which streets to cover, and took a last glance back at Abbeyfield Road. He wanted to make sure he remembered the name of the jeweller’s shop; but it was the Police Box that tugged at his attention. He took a step towards it, but as he did so one his men shouted, “Sir?” and Alistair smiled at his own foolishness, shook his head and ran to catch up with the squad.
*****
Five Days Later
The road by the cemetery was busy. Cars, taxis and double-decker buses vied for space, their wheels throwing up spray from wet tarmac. A fire engine charged by, its bell clanging. A small boy in shiny red wellies squealed with delight as he jumped into a puddle on the pavement. His mother seemed rather less amused.
The rain had cleared though, and Alistair paused on the corner of Abbeyfield Road to furl his umbrella. As he turned to enter the jeweller’s shop, he glanced along the road and caught sight of the Police Box that had seemed so strange to him a few days before. Now, it just seemed part of the normality, albeit a rather scruffy one. He checked his watch. Two hours before he was rostered for duty. Plenty of time.
The necklace he’d seen in the window was a little beyond his pay cheque, but the jeweller found a similar one at a price Alistair could afford.
“An elegant choice, sir.” The grey-haired man peered over half-moon glasses as he spoke. “I’m sure the lady will be delighted. I’ll just find the box…” He stopped, tilting his head slightly and adjusting his gaze to look toward the window. “What is that noise?”
Alistair could hear it too, a wheezing, scraping sound in the distance. “Whatever it is, it needs oiling,” he said.
Outside, another fire engine clanged past and, by the time the echo of its bell had faded, so too had the strange noise. Alistair thought no more about it till he’d paid for the necklace, pocketed the velvet-lined box, and exited the shop. A few paces down the road, he halted, turned slowly around to check he was in the right place, and stared at the houses lining the street.
In the time it had taken him to buy a present for his girlfriend, the battered Police Box had disappeared.
*****
*****
Carbury Archaeological Dig, Thirty Years Later
Alistair knelt beside the prone form in the ill-fitting brown jacket, and waited till the man looked up before saying: “I just can’t let you out of my sight, can I Doctor?”
“Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart!” The Doctor’s face was a picture of delighted surprise. “You recognise me then?”
Alistair smiled, remembering a deserted road outside a cemetery in Shoreditch, a fleeing figure shouting “No, no! We can’t do this now!” and a Police Box that vanished from a road outside a jeweller’s shop thirty years ago. “Yes. Who else would it be?”
The Doctor got to his feet and brushed himself off, then bent down to pick up the device that the Brigadier had stepped on. He examined it for a moment, then threw it aside, picked up his umbrella and moved toward the doorway. “I think we can get out of here now.”
“Wait a minute!” Alistair pointed at the armour-clad body in the middle of the chamber. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Oh, uh… Brigadier – King Arthur. King Arthur – Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, a fellow-warrior you’d probably insist on knighting. There, that’s the formalities dispensed with. Let’s go.”
“But…”
“Come along, Brigadier, my assistant’s in trouble out there.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Plus ça change…” He waited for a moment, added, “And you’re welcome,” to the Doctor’s retreating back, and followed after. As they hurried down the spiral staircase, he said, “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? This particular face, I mean.”
“Ah.” The Doctor glanced over his shoulder. “I wondered whether you’d remember that. Sorry I had to run, but I couldn’t allow you to meet me in 1963. It would have caused all sorts of ripples in the timestream.”
“Saw your TARDIS too,” said Alistair, as he climbed out of the carved dragon’s mouth into the next chamber. “Of course at the time I thought it was a Police Box, but …”
The Doctor had been about to step into the concrete tunnel that led to the surface, but as Alistair spoke he stopped, whirled around, and held up a forefinger, a thoughtful look on his face. “Did you, by any chance, touch it?”
“What earthly difference does it make whether I…?”
The Doctor stepped toward him. “Did you?”
Alistair braced his hands on his hips. “I really can’t see why it matters, Doctor, but since you ask, yes, I touched it. Why?”
“Because she recognised you, Brigadier, and interacted with you.” The Doctor wagged his raised finger dismissively, before Alistair could issue a denial. “Oh, not in a way you’d be aware of - not consciously. But when you met me in the underground a few years later, and I told you that I had a time machine that looked like a Police Box, you accepted it without question, didn’t you?”
“The situation was desperate, Doctor, you offered me a straw to clutch at.”
The Doctor shook his head and patted Alistair’s arm. “You knew. You didn’t know that you knew, but the belief was there all the same.” He smiled. “And all this time, I thought it was my snappy dress and natural charm that persuaded you I was telling the truth.”
Alistair managed not to laugh out loud. “Snappy dress?”
But the Doctor had already spun away and was scrambling through the tunnel. “Come on, we’ve wasted enough time! We need to get to the lake!”
“Of course we do.” Alistair ducked his head and stepped into the tunnel. Already today he had more questions than he knew he’d ever get answered, but he didn’t mind. He and the Doctor had come full circle – meeting underground once again, connecting dots they hadn’t known existed – and their adventures clearly hadn’t finished yet.
It has a lot to answer for, that blue box, he thought, as he followed the Doctor into the daylight, And I wouldn’t swap a single moment.
** THE END **
[Disclaimer: I do not own Dr Who or any rights to it. The above story was written for fun and entered in a not-for-profit fan competition]
