Into the Vortex

Into the Vortex is the 2013 Christmas Special to The Knight of Time. It is a prequel to the series, and represents a major divergence from primary Doctor Who canon.

Synopsis
Time is falling apart. Bizarre happenings seem to occur at random across reality, as if the universe itself is crying out in protest. As primordial beings carry out their own strange plans, a random assortment of mortals must seek out a way to save the universe. A medieval knight, an earl turned outlaw, and a Slitheen on the run all search for the one man who can stop it all: the Doctor.

Part One
Orbiting a little yellow sun in Mutter's Spiral, there was a blue, unassuming little place called Earth. It was small and generally unimportant, especially in the year it all began. The people hadn't even considered the possibility that they were not the center of the universe, and spent the entirety of their meager lives learning new ways to kill one another, while simultaneously breeding enough to more than make up for the casualties of war. They led lives that were altogether meaningless, but they were content with their collective lot.

Yet despite being such a small and out-of-the-way place, Earth and her children had a wonderful knack for attracting the worst kind of trouble. So when the universe began to come apart by its seams, it was no surprise that Earth was where it all started. What was a surprise was how quickly individuals, from Earth and beyond, came together and acted in defense of the universe. If I had a hat, I would surely tip it out of respect for those random people who by all accounts shouldn't have mattered.

--Taken from the desk of the Know-All in the final hours of the Last Great Time War.

It was nearly twilight when Sir Peter of Burgonshire first had a breakthrough in his search. The forest was quickly dimming, but a thornbush had caught a piece of evidence for him to track. He dismounted from his chestnut-haired steed and carefully removed it from a thorn. It was a short cut of green cloth, bright in color and yet difficult to spot amongst the trees and plants of Sherwood Forest. Peter chuckled to himself. He had been told that these "Merry Men" were cunning woodsmen. And yet they not only had left an easily recognisable patch of clothing hanging on a Bush, but had made a clearly trampled path leading away from it. Still smiling at the foolishness, Peter mounted again and followed the new trail. It led through some delightful scenery--many green trees, and small bubbling brooks. Apart from the uncommon heat that had fallen upon England recently, he rather enjoyed the ride. Sherwood was a very nice place. He could almost imagine living here.

He finally came to the base of a steep climb, flanked by impenetrable walls of trees on either side. The path seemed to stop short here. Peter frowned.

"Pray pardon me, good Sir knight," said a voice from behind him.

Peter hurriedly turned himself and his horse around, facing the other man with a sword in hand.

There was already an arrow on a bow string, pointed straight at his chest. The other man stood among the bushes, wearing the same green fabric as Peter had collected. He had a light but scraggly beard, and a feathered cap sitting crooked on his head. His skin was fair, although quite dusty.

The other man was grinning. "I believe that thou hath found a bit of my cloak?"

Sir Peter grimaced as he sheathed his sword, pulling out the bit of green cloth. "Is this what thou art after, ye knave?"

The man in the feather cap grinned even wider. "Indeed it is, sir. I thank thee kindly for it's safe return. Herbert, wouldst thou kindly retrieve my cloth?"

Another man in a green cloak popped out of the bushes, quickly taking the cloth and handing it to the feather-capped man, who stowed it away in his pocket.

"Tis a good thing thou returned it when ye did," said the bandit cheerfully. "Marian's sewing is superb, and she weren't happy with what I did with it. The cloaks she sews have a lot of hard work in 'em. Won't come off on random bushes. To be honest, I had a difficult time of trying to cut a patch off so I could put it on that bush." He chuckled, shaking his head.

Sir Peter glared. "So it's a trap, then."

A number of other figures in green began stirring around him. One, an enormous man with a thick quarterstaff, emerged from behind a tree scarcely six feet away from him.

"Oh, for God's sake," growled Peter, more at his own lack of woodsman skills than anything else.

The man in the feather cap stared out him. "Of course it be a trap," he said slowly, as if he were trying to explain something to a particularly dim-witted child. "Try to stay current, will ye?"

Peter glared. "So who might ye be? The chief of these 'Merry Men'?"

The man bobbed his head, causing his hat to flop to the other side of his. Head. "My name is Robert of Locksley, Earl of Huntington and chief of the Merry Men."

At this Sir Peter almost laughed out loud--as it was, he barely stifled a snort. "Thou art not Robert of Locksley. His face is clean. Shaven, I mean. Clean-shaven."

The bandit laughed. "Ye can blame being in the woods so long for that. But I assure thee I am Earl Robert."

Sir Peter shook his head. "Whether thou hath me surrounded or no, I cannot allow thee to insult the name of a good English lord. Robert of Locksley disappeared when his sheriff turned on him."

"And then, Earl Robert came to the woods," the bandit chief explained. He paused. "And what makes thou say I insult his name?"

"For a start, thou art a thief," Sir Peter retorted.

"I must take offence at that, sir. I've never robbed a man. I merely relieve the burdens from men who own too much."

"Thy dubious philosophies concerning property aside," growled Peter, "thou art a murderer twice over. Good men lost their lives to thee, and had their remains desecrated by thy gang."

The man in the feathered cap looked stunned, and then furious. "They accuse me of this? On what grounds?"

"Tis simple enough to ascertain thy guilt," said Peter, glaring at the bandits in hatred. "Sir Tomas Vane and his squire rode into thy woods, looking for thee. Two moons ago, they were both found, dead, with their bodies strewn about in a trail of gore. The squire had even been badly burned. There are no other bandit gangs for miles. 'Tis quite clear to me who their murderers were."

The bandit chief shook his head vigorously. "Twas not I, or any of my band. We warned them."

Sir Peter's rose. "You warned them? Shall I take that as an admission of guilt, rogue?"

"We warned him about the demons!" yelled Robert.

Peter gaped.

The bandit chief regained his composure. "We never kill if we can help it," he said softly, almost in a murmur. "We warned him that there was danger in the woods. We warned him that unholy things were afoot in the forest, but the knight didn't listen, and his squire laughed. We tried to save them.

"What manner of trickery is this--" began Peter.

"Men disappear into thin air, metal things move across the sky, and exotic fires light up the trees. Unnatural beasts prowl between the great oaks, which moan frighteningly under more than one moon. We know not why these things happen, only that they do."

Peter continued to stare, and began to put his hand back on his sword hilt. "Methinks thou hath lost thy wits," he said finally.

"Tis true, I swear to thee." The man in the feather cap seemed agitated. The other men in his troop looked uncharacteristically grim now, for a band called the Merry Men.

"Demons," repeated Peter incredulously. "For God's sake man, ye insult me with thy explanation. At least keep thy falsehoods within the realm of reason."

The man in the feather cap paused for a moment, seeming lost in thought. "Were thou a friend of Sir Tomas'?" He asked finally.

Sir Peter nodded his head fiercely. "And I intend to see justice on his behalf, no matter who stands in my way."

The bandit chief smiled. "I'll be holding thee to that promise. It seemeth to me that thou art not one to believe in monsters until thy own eyes hath proven them to thee. I shall give them the chance."

He beckoned for Peter to follow him, and began to march into the woods. "I told thee my name, though ye didn't believe it. What is thine?"

"Sir Peter of Burgonshire."

In his head, Sir Peter of Burgonshire desperately tried to think of a way out of this absurdity. Miles into the woods, held captive by murderous outlaws who apparently are also madmen, he thought solemnly. If it is possible to be mired in worse circumstances than this, I should love to hear of it.

The TARDIS was exploding again.

Lights and sparks and weird ringing sounds filled the room as a man in suspenders and dicky bow ran round and round the console, pulling levers and pressing buttons that probably shouldn't be touched.

"What did you touch?!" Shouted the woman across the console.

"Why do you assume I touched anything?" demanded the Doctor.

River Song grumbled as she brought up another screen. It came up with a whining sound, and though the Doctor couldn't see what it showed, he could hear the gasp as his wife saw it.

"Sweetie," she began to say, "could you come take a look..."

"A little busy at the moment," the Doctor yelled back. A floor panel disintegrated underneath him, causing him to drop several feet. "Toss me my screwdriver! I dropped it when the red thing exploded."

River's hand suddenly grasped his, yanking him up and dragging him to the screen.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"Alright, alright, I'll take a ..."

He froze, staring up at the screen. The explosions and sparks around him faded entirely to the back of his mind. It was Foreboding--a Foreboding, one of the thousands of Forebodings that had been created. An explosion in time, created as a sort of premonition of temporal anomalies still to come. Time corridors spreading like the veins in broken glass. The TARDIS had run right into it.

River's concerned voice echoed through to him. "Honey? Is everything all right?"

His hand started to dematerialize, slowly phasing in and out of the TARDIS. He grabbed hold of his wife's hand, and his sonic screwdriver in the other.

"I'll have plenty of time to explain," he said quickly. "We might be waiting for a while."

He pressed a button on the screwdriver, pointing it at the TARDIS console.

"Sexy!" he called out, "we might be gone for a little while! You know the drill!"

Another explosion erupted through the Time Vortex, and a wooden blue police box was caught in the brunt of the blast. The Doctor and River Song were sent hurtling out of the box, into another time.

The Doctor and the TARDIS were separated.

But that was of no consequence. The TARDIS knew what to do.

It had been a while since Blist Rel-Rotch Quallorous Gob Slitheen had been on the run. Well, she was a Slitheen, so she was always technically on the run. But it wasn't always this literal.

Her huge claws cut a path through the shrubs and tree branches that impeded her progress. Behind her, the clunking of armor slowly faded into the distance, and the blasterbolts incinerated targets further and further away from her. Eventually, she felt safe in slowing to a stop and taking shelter under a pile of sauropod bones.

Usually Blist's first order of business would be to assign blame concerning her current predicament. Sadly however, this did not seem to be possible in this case. It was all very simple: ship falls through temporal anomaly, ship crashes onto prehistoric planet, ship's pilot exits ship and is attacked by foreign invaders. A series of coincidences that all led up to one very bad day. If there was blame to be assigned, then it could only go to whichever deity was responsible for the Raxacoricofallapatorian race.

At least she knew enough about science to figure out what planet she was on. The continents she had glimpsed before crashing looked like those of Earth, minus a few epochs worth of plate tectonics. Her limited knowledge of xenobiology confirmed that the animals present here were of the Dinosauria clade. The one thing she couldn't figure out was why there were people here. They weren't even Silurians; that would make some degree of sense. There were races here that shouldnt evolve for millions of years. Had they fallen through the same anomaly as she had? If so, then why were they still here, with their all-too intact ships?

She'd have to find an escape route. Some way off of this planet. If only tye craft she had seen before would let her in...

Her senses put an end to her thoughts. Peeking out from behind a rib, her vision penetrated the light mist of the forest. One of the Sontarans had come close to her hiding spot. It truly was a pathetic thing, with its tiny little body and big head. It looked almost adorable in that armor.

Blist's claws extended. Fortunately Sontarans were bred to be soldiers, not predators. This would be child's play.

A pity its skin is so small, she thought as she slashed through the back of its neck. The Sontaran died with a gurgled shout as it hit the ground with a thud. Blist scratched herself thoughtfully. This is going to be a tight fit.

The smell alone could have convinced him that Hell had broken loose upon the Earth. The bandits led Sir Peter into a wide clearing, filled with the stench of decay and burning flesh. Bodies covered the ground, and Peter realized with a start that not all of them were human.

Many of the corpses looked like giant lizards, with long legs menacing with hooked claws. Several corpses were shaped like men, but covered in armor from head to toe. Peter noted that of these, none bore a scratch except for arrows sticking out from the back of the neck.

The most numerous of the cadavers were men clothed in the green capes of the Merry Men.

Robert shook his head and muttered. "My apologies for the carnage, Sir Peter. We bury our dead as quickly as we can, but it is hard to keep ahead. A few months ago our band numbered almost a hundred men. Now we are less than twenty." There was much pain in the man's voice.

"My God," said Peter numbly. "How... what..." He shook himself angrily. "This must be a trick," he declared, "the Lord God would not allow such blasphemies in His land."

The bandit chief pulled an intact arrow from the neck of one of the armored corpses. The arrowhead glistened, not with blood, but with a sickly green substance.

"Mayhaps the Lord tests us in His infinite wisdom," he said. "Or perhaps the evil one is loose in the land. Either way, these brutes are very real. They have been attacking men in this area for months. We warned Sir Tomas Vane and his squire, and tried to show him... but he refused to listen, and was assaulted by a great number of them. While a good warrior, Sir Tomas did not last long in pitched battle with them."

Peter felt sick, staring at the green-tipped arrow.

The man in the feather cap pointed into the air.

"Observe closely, and thou will see the root of these blasphemies," he said bitterly.

Peter stared into the air, but soon came to wish that he hadn't. The air was not still, as he had originally believed. Rather, it was in a constant state of distortion, spinning in an enormous spiral pattern. Occasionally he saw glimpses of what seemed to be another forest with strange trees somehow behind the air.

"That is the root of our troubles. The doorway into Hell itself. Hell is a strange and misty forest filled with dragons that run upon two legs, and these armored men with faces like wrinkled chestnuts."

"Hast thou been beyond the doorway?", asked Peter, surprised.

The other man nodded. "Twice. Once to rescue a man captured by the devils, once in pursuit of them in retreat." He grinned. "We've been considering another assault on the forces of Satan of late. Perhaps thou would like to ride into battle with us?"

Sir Peter continued to stare at the air, his mouth dry. Those were a pair of sentences he could have lived without hearing. He had come seeking a skirmish with bandits. Now he seemed to have stumbled into Armageddon itself.

But then, I've always been a soldier, he thought, his hand fingering the hilt of his sword. Be it Spanish bowman or devil, I have a duty to defend England with my last breath.

"I shalt accompany thee," said Peter finally. "To Hell and back again. Although... might I perhaps have some instruction on how to slay devils?"

Robert of Locksley nodded his head. "The backs of their necks are vulnerable. Easy to hit with an arrow if thou art a good bowman, as I am. For one such as thyself, trained with the sword, it shan't be difficult for thee to land a strike there..."

When the time came to ride into Hell, Peter felt an odd sense of relief.

As the day had passed, Robert--Robin, as he had insisted on being called--had discussed tactics with his band, and several more Merry Men had made their way to the spot from the surrounding forest. Peter had been treated to a couple of anecdotes about the demons, which usually ended in horribly violent descriptions of the methods the demons possessed of ending a life. The armored demons shot bolts of fire, which would kill upon contact. The reptiles that ran upon two legs would stalk men for hours before making themselves known, and when they attacked, they attacked in large numbers. In Hell itself, there were even more horrible creatures, usually poisonous and well-hidden. Robin insisted that the blunt facts made the true shape of their tribulations seem worse than they truly were.

At one point during the day, Peter asked why they had not enlisted the aide of others, rather than attempting to wage a war in Hell alone.

Robin laughed. "We have enlisted aide. That is what thou art."

"Thou knowest full well what I mean," snapped Peter grumpily. He prided himself on his good head for battle, but this one was different. Every moment he spent preparing, he could see the clawed and armored forms of devils. It was a constant reminder that he had no idea what lay ahead.

Robin had continued to smile, shaking his head. "If we made public what we had seen, we would likely be branded as madmen and blasphemers. Thou could ride back to Burgonshire now and enlist aide, and they would likely tether thee to a bed and pronounce thee insane."

And so it came to pass that Sir Peter of Burgonshire sat atop his horse, his hand on his sword and his eyes locked upon the unearthly portal ahead of him. The Merry Men were gathered around him, a couple mounted, most not. He saw Robin at the edge of the clearing, apparently speaking to a well-dressed woman and a fat monk. Eventually he mounted a black stallion and came to the front of the party.

"Friar Tuck has given us his blessing," he said solemnly, before bursting into a smile. "Though if any of thee have last-moment sins to confess, now would be the time to do so."

Several of the bandits laughed at this. Lord, I pray that I am in thy good grace now, thought Peter, for I may be dining with thee in Heaven ere long.

An odd thought occured to him. What happens if I die in Hell...?

Ahead of him, Robin spurred his steed forward, suddenly disappearing as the air distorted around him. One by one the Merry Men disappeared, until finally Sir Peter built up the courage. The distortion in the air swirled grotesquely for a moment, before a bizarre wrenching motion struck through his insides...

His first impression of Hell was of a refreshing breeze. He glanced about, blinking in confusion.

The surrounding forest was a serene place, populated by odd but soothing trees with broad leaves. There was a gentle mist that tinted the air, and a handful of flowers added color to the landscape. Birdsong filled his ears, although he'd never heard any birds sing in such a way. They sang a song that was wild and fresh to his ears. He didn't realize he was gaping again until Robin spoke from the ground, where he was studying tracks.

"We called it Fairyland, at first," he said, straightening his feather cap. "Before the first devils started coming out from it. 'Tis a beautiful place, so beautiful I can but assume it is one of Satan's tricks."

Peter nodded, still taken aback. "Hast thou found any meaningful tracks?"

The other man shook his head. "Just a few birds, by the looks of these prints. But I know where the lead devils set up their camp." He mounted his horse. "Let us be off."

Raptors erupted from every bush, quickly surrounding the small squad. Quickly Commander Wexd drew his weapon and entered the thrill of battle.

The first three raptors stopped in their tracks, tumbling into the dust as the blasterbolts struck them. A fourth exploded into flame and flesh in mid-air as it attempted to pounce the Sontaran commander from behind. The rest were quick work, falling in droves as the Sontarans opened fire into the pack. Those that remained took off at a run, desperate to escape the burning death being rained down upon them.

Except for one straggler, which chose to attack rather than flee. It jumped so quickly it could have been flying, landing on Wexd's chest. It clawed and bit as hard as it could to penetrate the armor blocking it from warm flesh.

Laughing, Commander Wexd grabbed the attacker by the throat and slammed it into the dirt. It attempted to fight its way up, only to flop and lay still when Wexd's boot crushed its skull.

"If only the humans had evolved from these raptors, rather than those spineless primates," declared Wexd happily. "Perhaps their species would have had some spirit."

The other Sontarans all laughed their agreement, except one who remained somewhat distant.

"What troubles you, soldier?" Asked Wexd.

A light rumbling erupted from the other Sontarans armor. "Er, indigestion," he mumbled.

"Worry not, soldier," replied Wexd. "We all must make sacrifices for the great Sontaran Empire, but our strategy shall make it all worth it. By the end of the week, we shall draw the blood of gods!"

A shout of "Sontar-Ha!" went up amongst the soldiers. Wexd pulled out his teleporter. "While I have thoroughly enjoyed my participation in battle with you, I must return to base. Command is given to Lieutenant Ropp. Continue the patrol, for the glory of the great Sontaran Empire!"

Wexd teleported as another shout of "Sontar-Ha!" went up. Lieutenant Ropp happily took command of the squad. The patrol continued for a time, although no further opportunities for battle emerged. Ropp began to grow bored until he noticed the arrow sticking out from his probic vent.

Alarm was raised as the other Sontarans prepared for their surprise battle. An assault of what seemed to be humans came from all around...

Sir Peter rode into battle with ferocity. They had been stalking this band of demons for hours now, and nothing he had seen had comforted him. The devils had short work of another band of devils that had attacked them earlier, and one of them had disappeared into thin air. And they repeatedly referred to some sort of demonic Empire, which even Robin had expressed surprise over. Apparently the man had seldom heard them speak.

When his mount first came into range, his soldier instincts overcame what he'd been told, and he attempted to stab the demon through the chest with his sword. He gasped as the blade deflected easily from the breastplate, almost snapping. The combined force of Peter's arm and his horse's momentum should have skewered the devil...

Fortunately, the force of the blow, while not as instantly lethal as Peter had hoped, was enough to knock the creature over. As the devil rose to its feet, pointing the strange weapon in its arms, Peter drove his blade as hard as he could through the back of the neck. The devil fell into the dirt with a muffled cry, and green blood glistened on the knight's sword as he drew it from his fallen foe.

My first demon-slaying, he thought mirthlessly, as he continued the attack.

He was surprised by several fireballs that issued from the devil-weapons, but he managed to duck away from them. Most of the monsters had been slain already, struck down by the bandits' barrage of arrows. Those few that remained had assumed some form of tactical position, blasting wherever they saw the green form of a Merry Man. Sir Peter stabbed several of these, who were so intent on their aim that they failed to notice him approaching on horseback. Before long, only one devil remained. Peter rode towards it, readying his sword for a killing strike...

The devil sank to it's knees and shouted "Wait! Don't hurt me!"

For a moment, Blist thought the human hadn't heard her, but at the last minute his horse swerved away from her. The men in the green cloaks began to show themselves, eyeing her warily with their bows in hand.

The man on horseback seemed to be surprised. "What meanest thou, devil?"

"I'm not a Sontaran," explained Blist. "I'm in disguise." She bowed her head slightly. "My name is Blist Rel-Rotch Quallorous Gob Slitheen. See, not a Sontaran. What's your name?"

"Sir Peter of Burgonshire," said the human slowly. He shook himself, and then raised his sword. "I knowest not what trickery thou hath in store, devil, but it ends now!"

"Wait, wait!" Blist yelled. Clearly Sir Someone of Somewhere was a very primitive person. She'd have to speak at his level.

"I am from a family of devils, but I have renounced their ways." Technically, that's not a lie, thought Blist. ''I am a moral Slitheen. The others are far more devilish.''

"Might I show you my true form?" She pressed on. "To show you that I am not among these other demons?" It was also quite cramped in this tiny little Sontaran skin, but that wasn't anything he needed to know.

Sir Pointy-Sword seemed to consider this for a moment. "Art thou an angel, then?"

"Trying to be."

"Then show us thy true form."

Blist breathed a sigh of relief as she put her hands up to the zipper in her forehead. Her proper, Raxacoricofallapatorian body was bound to comfort them more than this vile, Sontaran skin...

A flickering blue light filled the clearing, as the most grotesque creature Sir Peter had ever seen crawled out from the skin of the devil. He wanted to retch as he watched.

The brute was far larger than the body it had been possessing. It stood taller than a bear, with claws that would put the former to shame. Its eyes, black and huge, stared out from what was otherwise a featureless green face. Mostly featureless, aside from its broad, too-human lips. It moved not like a man, but with swift motions like a cat.

Robin looked as if he might fall off his horse, though his bow remained firmly locked onto the monster.

"I told you I wasn't a demon," said the brute in a crooning, bubbling voice.

Sir Peter started to open his mouth to speak, but Robin hushed him. "Listen," muttered Robin. The man seemed to be staring into the forest...

Without other warning, a bolt of fire soared through the air before striking a Merry Man. The bandit fell into the dust of the ground, screaming as the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

"Retreat!" Shouted Robin. His horse was spurred into the trees, the other men of the group close behind. Peter saw several more bolts strike the Merry Men, and a wave of heat passed over his face as a bolt narrowly missed him. He dug his spurs into his steed's side and did his best to disappear into the woods.

The green devil yelled in its bubbling voice as it ran. "Snipers! Sontarans hate snipers! They must have important plans in motion to dishonor themselves like this."

Peter had little time to think before another set of bolts began to fly from in front of them.

Robin was sitting atop his horse, seeming uncertain. "They have us surrounded. They haven't organized this quickly before..."

The green devil spoke again. "You've angered them by being sneaky. You're probably also upsetting whatever stratagem brought them here."

The sound of marching boots could be heard a short distance away. Peter's mouth went dry. The sound alone promised far more of the demons then before.

The devil seemed hesitant. "There is... a craft. I don't know whether it will help us or not, but it gives us a better chance than fighting Sontarans in pitched combat..."

Robin looked desperate. "Lead the way."

They ran, the devil taking the lead. More fire bolts jet past them. Sir Peter began to zigzag his movement as much as he could, although the thick foliage made it difficult. And still the sound of pursuit continued. Peter began to wonder if riding into Hell was such a clever idea after all.

Abrubtly the green devil, loping on all fours, turned sharply into a clearing before stopping. Robin and the Merry Men did likewise.

Peter looked into the center of the clearing, his scant hopes fading. There was no craft.

In the middle of the clearing, seeming somewhat out of place amongst the trees, was a tall blue box made of wood. Above the pair of windows in the front, Peter read the incomprehensible words "Police Public Call Box." An odd bauble like a lantern sat on top of it.

Whatever purpose the strange box had, it clearly could not save them.

"Thou hath lied to us, demon!" Robin turned to face the green creature, pointing his bow at its throat.

"I have a name, you know," said the devil cooly. "I am Blist Rel-Rotch--"

"It matters not!" cried Sir Peter. He drew his sword. "We shall die here with courage." The sound of the demonic horde grew louder and louder.

"You won't be dying with anything if you listen to me," said Blist, a hint of irritation coming through her voice. "This box can save us. It is called the TARDIS. It belonged to an... acquaintance of my family."

"It could belong to a saint for all the good it will do us," said Robin, turning his bow towards the sound of coming demons.

"I don't have time for this," said the green creature. "I can't get into it, because of my race. The box seems to remember, and have a poor opinion of, Slitheen. But maybe it will accept the Doctor's pet humans. Try it!"

A Merry Man attempted to open the front door. It was locked.

A bolt of fire flew into the clearing, killing the Merry Man closest to the box. The armored devils began to pour out of the treeline, their strange weapons raised.

Robin swiftly rode away from the box, picking up distance as he attempted to flank the demons. Already a couple of demons fell to the ground with arrows in their necks. Peter began to back his horse towards the box, raising his sword for a last stand. Lord, forgive me my sins, he thought glumly. Please, allow me into Heaven upon my death.

And then a curious, slightly amused voice spoke in his head. ''Death? Well that's not necessary. All you had to say was please.'' The box's doors swung open. Without knowing how, Peter recognized this as an opportunity. He spurred his stallion straight through the doors and into the box.

The overall effect was not unlike passing through the air distortion before. While he had instinctively expected the cramped insides of a box, he found himself riding through a doorway into a wide dimly lit room. Stairways and metal railings seemed to be everywhere, and the room was dominated by a huge pillar covered in levers and buttons.

He had little time to stare before Blist came loping into the room, glancing about. "Fascinating," she crooned, "I've often wondered what the inside of this was like..."

The Merry Men began to pour in. Peter suddenly realized that the demons were charging towards the doorway, their blast bolts hitting the sides of the box with futile thunks.

Just before the first wave of demons entered, the doors to the box swung closed of their own accord. A barrage of knocks could be heard on the other side of the door for a moment, but then subsided.

"Robin is out there still," said Peter. This saddened him. He was starting to like the man. The Merry Men bowed their heads in grief.

Blist seemed slightly more unconcerned. "We can use this to escape," she said, glancing about. "Though I don't want to touch anything. As I said before, the TARDIS probably won't let me touch anything.

Sir Peter dismounted from his horse and idly put his hand on one of the levers. "Perhaps..."

"Oy! Don't touch that!"

Peter looked up to see an exceptionally strange man glowering at him. The man was tall and thin, wearing suspenders and a quant little dicky bow. His face was young, with a pointed chin, and his eyes were... intense? Ancient? It was hard to put precise words on the mans peculiarities. But he seemed to be partly transparent.

"Art thou a spirit?" asked Peter, shocked.

The man kept on as if he hadn't heard him. "Sorry if I startled you. I rigged up this hologram to go off if anybody touched the TARDIS console. It seemed a safe bet, seeing as everybody always touches it. Out of curiosity, which one was it? The little candy cane one?"

Sir Peter guiltily took his hand away from a red-and-white striped lever.

"Don't answer that," continued the pointy-chinned man, "I don't even know what that lever does. It has the word "plasma" in it though, so it's probably a thing that shouldn't be touched. Oh, and I'm the Doctor, by the way."

Blist looked warily at the hologram. "The Oncoming Storm," she muttered. "Destroyer of Worlds. Slayer of the Pasameer-Day Slitheen. This man is dangerous."

The Doctor's projection suddenly said "Oh! My fez!"

A hand appeared in midair, handing him a tasteless red hat which the Doctor wore with a grin. "Thanks River. Where was I?"

Sir Peter raised an eyebrow at Blist, who continued to grumble.

"Where was I?" asked the Doctor. "Hmm. Anyway, you're probably getting this message because I've been separated from the TARDIS and stranded. If I managed to activate the metaplasmic spatial link before it happened, then getting it back to me should be as easy as pressing this button." His finger pointed straight towards a lime green button in the middle of the console.

"The TARDIS has her own little criteria for who she chooses for this little thing," the Doctor went on. "But chances are, you're someone who doesn't have a lot of options right now. You're probably being chased by something. In any case, just press the green button, and you'll bring me the TARDIS. And then I can help you." The Doctor smiled. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Sir Peter eyed the green button. The man was right. He didn't have any other choices right now. And the Doctor seemed harmless enough. Blist clearly had some misgivings concerning him, but Blist was in all likelihood a demon.

The Doctor meanwhile, was saying "And now, just to fill up the rest of the holodisc space, I'm going to make a series of random noises with my mouth until you press the button, consisting mainly, but not limited to, bingle bangle, dingle dangle, yickety doo, yickety dah, ping pong, lippy tuppy tooh tah..."

"Press the button," growled Blist.

As soon as he did, the room began to shake and emit sparks. Peter's horse became spooked, and began to rear up on his hind legs. The Merry Men all began to grab hold of the metal railings, some praying loudly and desperately. What seemed to be a wheel at the top of the console pillar began to spin, all while making a queer sound...

''VWORP. VWORP. VWORP...''

'''<>'''

Part Two
To be revealed on February 2014.