Dr Who in the 21st Century

1

The noise was that which a Tardis makes, peeperating in the background as the Tardis hurtled through time (and space), sometimes spinning, but then hurtling again.

"You know, in some universes in the multiverse, I am not in the form of a woman, and it will cause all sorts interesting conversation, angst and nervous excitement, when, inevitably, I am," the Doctor held forth at the console.

"I can't see it myself, no, not until it happens," her Sean Connery-lookalike Companion from Scotland answered carefully, not wishing to offend, or cause an argument, but mostly so as not to be assaulted with an upthrusting sonic screwdriver.

"Now, Petty, have you ever wondered what lies beneath my outer clothing, and even deeper still?"

"No."

"I am a Time Lord. Or Time Lady if you like. It's all the same. I am not actually a woman or a man, not being human at all."

"Really?"

"After a fashion. Some as think we are neither male or female; and that would make us neither women or men."

"Nor transgender, one thinks, nor transvestites."

"Good point. I of course can't tell you what lies beneath my clothes or deeper. Though, of course, if you look closely you can see I have certain shapings of form that are superfcially those of a woman..."

"Or transgender, breasts-wise. I mean, breast-wise transgender as opposed to breast-less transgender."

"Just so. Quite acute of you to say. Of course, like telling you my name, I can't tell you what I am reallymade of, superficially or deeply. May leave me exposed."

"What? Knowing your name?"

"Yes."

"Why? Something to do with Gallifrey?"  

"Probably. It's always something t do with Gallifrey when all else fails. My point is, I am not a woman. So don't expect any woman jokes."

"Hey! Isn't your name Julia Figg?"

"No. That's just the form I took. It was not like the original inhabitant was doing much with it, whether superficially or deeply. Well, not deeply anyhow...."

"I wonder where this conversation is leading?" Petty mused.
 
"Probably nowhere. You know what Ol' Anon's like.... now, where are we landing just now?"

The Doctor's attention had suddenly been taken up with the megacomputerscreenpanel before her. "Looks almost like Earth. Britain somewhere, I would say. 21st Century."

"That's where I originally came  from," Petty said excitedly.

"My! And there was me thinking you were from the Nineteenth Century. Queen Victoria and all that. Go figure!"


...to be continued....

2

"The air smells like its 21st Century, but not British," the Doctor averred on departing the Tardis. "And I can't see one shoe shop or knick knackery."

"There is a shed over there with the word 'potter' over the door."

"Just so. I am suspicious already. This seems like a one potter town, and not a cafe in sight. Come on. Can't say I'm expecting an adventure here. A Dalek wouldn't be seen dead here in this speck of a town in the middle of nowhere."

"What about a Cyberman?"

"What is it with you and Cybermen? Anyway, doubt it... sniff sniff.... is that marsupial?"

Petty had a sinking feeling.



To be continued....

{{First a female Doctor now Ole Anon is sending her down under I fear- no good will come of this double-entendre territory:x }}

3

A rather handsome potter - by potter-only standards - was behind the counter of the pottery when they entered the pottery sales shed (or studio).

"Strewth!" says he. "What a bonzer bird! And a flaming red. Strewth! Betya ya a hot and tawdry budgie-baby in the outshed come Sundee: a hot Lady, I do think so."

"Look here, you," says Petty striding forward, kilt at the stiff. "Don't you go talking like that. This is no Lady."

"Strewth!"

"She isn't s even a woman."

"Strewth!"

"Well, not strictly a woman."

"Could have fooled me, mate. Must ask me brother Bruce about that when he comes in. Not that I need another opinion, Kev."

'"Kev?"

"That's just Oztralian talk, mate. Wots ya name, Sonny Jim?"

"Its Petty. And who's this Sonny Jim? And where? Not hiding beneath the counter or something?"

"Look, Kev, or Peter, or whatever your name is - I'll call you Pete, that's okay? - look, Pete, we Oztralians have our ways of speaking. Which brings me to you. You've got a Scottie accent but you talk like a Pom. Like you got a plum in your gob. Not one ockthanoo in earsight. What's going on mate?"

"Look here, you ignorant convict, enough of that overdone Ozzie accent and ridiculous take on oztalking. Even a Scot wouldn't exaggerate things the way you are doing."

"Ya kidding me, Pete. Given half a chance you'd be banging on with silly facetious mock-Oztalk in a flash."

"That is true enough," says the Doctor stepping forth. "Now, my charming Oztralian. How are things hanging around here? And don't reply with any comments about huge ballbags blowing in the wind and banging like dunny doors. I am 800 years old and past all that crap."

"800? Strewth! Be like banging me Great grand mother, it would, stone the crows. Would a man roots his own grandma? Not if he wasn't marooned on an island with no other choices, not ever a cockatoo! Never heard of such a thing."

"No, and you won't be doing any such thing. Not with me, anyway. Petty can speak for himself. Now, have you had been experiencing anything funny around here lately? You know, peculiar stuff? I assume that's why I'm here... you know, to sort out mysteries and save the universe ---- as per usual ----"

"Peculiar things?" The handsome potter scratched his hairy chin. "You wouldn't be talking about my strange stirrings in the night, would ya?"

"No I'm not, and get that bloody stupid hopeful look off your face. I'm talking about strange lights in the sky. Or mysterious robotic cheeses-with-legs marching through the fields? Or funny humming noises coming from the bottom of an gold mine shaft?"

"Strewth? Now as you mention it: all of them! Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor."

"Strewth! Be about time, Sheilah. See! It's me gut, Doc. Started about two weeks ago. The farting. My God! Even I can't stand it. Can't say I'm proud about it, either, as one should be, me being an Oztralian through and through! I run the other way when I feel one coming... it's a miracle... never heard of an Oztralian not savourin' his own farts, but...."

"She's not here about your flatulence," Petty burst out in interruption. "She's not THAT kind of Doctor."

"Steady, Petty," the Doctor said, her face a study in concentration, and laying a restraining hand on the handsome Scot's elbow. "Now, potter fellow. When did the farting start?"




To be continued....

" and laying a restraining hand on the handsome Scot's elbow."
You said Handsome  Some might think that weird enough, let alone all the bonza & farting

All these years, and I never made the connection. "Oztralia".

Haha, me neither! I had thought that there existed some strange connection between The Wizard of Oz and Australia.

4

The Doctor had studiously worked, using language of the simplest kind, to get some kind of sense out of the handsome Oztralian potter, but due to language difficulties, got nowhere quick. In fact, nowhere. For not even the Doctor had mastered Oztralian, that would take anyone other than an Oztralian approximately, or about, a very long while to master, not a mere 800 years, unless you were born to it, or, at least, you had recently crawled out of the marsupial pouch.... So, forever adaptable, the Doctor decided it was best to just let the potter show them where the peculiarities had started. (Not all the Oztralian peculiarities, just the ones pertinent in this tale).

In a nonce, or slightly more, they we standing in a small sheep paddock - only seven miles square - in the blinding Oztralian sun.

"Cooweeee!" The potter coeeed when they reached a stump by another stump beside a gumtree that wasn't a stump yet, but looked tired enough.

"What was that for?" Petty wanted to know, having been given a fright by the potter's unheralded cooee, and wondering now if every Bunyip in the place would come running and causing some sort of Bunyip trouble or peril, whatever Bunyip trouble or peril was. But they were too far from a billabong for anything like that to happen,  whatever that was.

'We Always do that in the outback," the potter told them. "Lets the Oztralian wildlife know we're hereabouts. Especially the snakes and funnel webs and sharks, which are all shy and retiring and gentle by nature, well, usually, but if you get within a mile of them, they'll come running alright, at the speed of the mallee wind on their respective legs, or crenelated bellies, and deal with you severely. Oh yeah. And Blue Ring Octupuses too."

"Sharks and octupuses?" the Doctor queried drily. 'Out here in this parched landscape?"

"They were here when this was an ocean awhiles back," the potter told them solemnly. "Best not take no chances. Not here. But mainly it's brown snakes, tiger snakes and black snakes round here: they kill you with one glance. Not as dangerous as Taipans, mind, who just have to think about you and you drop dead, but they're a fair way north. About ten thousand miles away - in Queensland. Lucky, I reckon. Real lucky they're there and we're here. Criikey! Bloody lucky!"

"Ten thousand miles away? Is Oztralia that big?" Petty queried in surprise.

"Yep," says the potter.

"Okay, we are now standing in a very parched landscape in baking sunshine," the Doctor said, fanning her fair face with a fair sized handkerchief. "And here's a couple of stumps. What now?"

"What now? Strewth, woman! That one on the left is the one where it started!"

"What's that?"

"Bloody hell, woman! It's the one where the cheese-like substance was slumping. A bit like concrete, only yellow and not grey, but you wouldn't know what I mean, it being potter lingo. Slump, I mean. It's potter lingo.... Anyway that's where it was. I thought it was cheese and I had a gobful, which is how one checks for danger down under, and it tasted like shit. The worse shit a man ever ate and I've ate a bit in my time: accidental like. Then this cheese-like apparition came bounding past like a bee had stung its arse, its legs pounding like they were pistons, real robot-like. That was when I figured out that it must have been a cheese-robot shit on the stump. Left a sour taste, must say."

"The plot thickens," the Doctor mused, looking wise and regal and thoughtful.

"I feel sick," Petty said.

To be continued....

Ahhh... having an annoying sulky morning, but this is good medicine.

Ol' Anon tells me that improving sulky mornings every now and then is the very reason he tells these tales!

There's something laconic to the humour that I find quite delightful!

Laconic is very Oztralian. We bushies often get accused of that. Is good. Is true. But some of us don't have the laconic. We don't like to talk about them. It's like those Scotshobbits who don't wear a kilt. Not really, Scotshobbits in my opinion. Not stereotypical enough for my liking, cobber.

5

The potter took them next to the gold mine of the peculiar noises.

"Damn fine mullock heap this," the potter said, admiring the wonderfully neat mullock heap by the mineshaft. "Now listen in, cobbers.... This mine shaft was dug by some emancipated convicts and their mates, and when the Troopers weren't watching, the Chinamen scratched carefully through them, stacking the debris nicely as they went, and silly billies found a lot of specks of gold. Specks of gold! Ha ha. Gotta laugh. The convicts and their mates dug like the billy-o - this shaft's ten miles deep, a 'shallow shaft' as we call 'em - but didn't find much gold. They liked big mansized nuggets, not the puny specks the Chinamen found. Then the convicts and their mates went back to shearing sheep and taming kangaroos for exploring the great Oztralian interior, and the Chinamen left rich. No one knows how. Some say they made market gardens and sold food to the starving convicts and their mates, but a lot of 'em went back to China laden with gold bullion, about twenty million tons in all, no one knows where the fuck they got all that gold. They only found specks. Lots and lots of specks. Fucking waste of time. We still don't know where all gold bullion came from. It's what we Oztralians call a damn fickin' mystery. Can you hear that noise?"

"What!" Petty giggled. "The sound of wind whizzing in one of your ears, then out the other."

"Mate, there ain't no wind blowing. Funny thing to say. No, I mean the funny mechanical noise. Coming up the mind shaft."

Petty went to the mine opening and looked down. "I can see sparks and what looks like a cogwheel... Hey! I thought you said this mine was ten miles deep! It can't be more than fifty feet!"

"I said it is what we call a 'shallow shaft', the depth was just me approximation. A rough one. You Scots are a bit lit'ral, aren't yas."

"Is it me," the Doctor put in. "But is the potters accent going further beyond ultra-stereotypical by the minute?"

"That'd be right, Miss. For a sheilah you're quick on the uptake. Good looking woman, too, must say. Bimbo don't come to mind at all. That's a negative, but never mind. Might even introduce you to me pet snake later."

"What? Your trouser snake?"

"Damn quick Miss. Damn quick."

"The lingo might change, but men are the same no matter where you go," the Doctor said drily.

"Don't know you'll be saying that when you see my pet snake, woman. I call him 'Sheilah Surprise.' Named him after a horse who won the Melbourne Cup back to back in 1893 or thereabouts. Worth considering, woman. Wouldn't be the first time I've pumped a class act... well, class outside the shed, ring-a-ring ding inside the shed. Know what I mean! Anyway.... Maybe later. Bit hot and sandy out here. Don't want true grit running in the canals do we, know what I mean, woman!"

"Enough with all this 'womaan' stuff!" Petty burst in sturdily. "For a start, I think you should show more respect, and secondly, the Doctor is not a woman. Not really."

"Oh that argument again, Scottie. A bit of advice. Gob like this gets boring quick, mate; real boring!" the potter sighed. "What is she then? A man?"

"No! She's a Time Lord... well, Lady. Anyway, she's not really a woman."

"A transvestite?"

"What?"

"Still fair game you know. We figure here down under that if a man dresses as a woman, then he's a woman. His choice, you know. Gotta respect that. And fair game, you know what mean?"

"So you reckon it's alright to make love to a man, so long as he's dressed like a woman?" (Petty was thinking, 'This will catch that stupid convict out.')

"Think what you like, Scottie, but we reckon if a man wants to dress like a woman he must really be a woman, except with a penis and no tits. If he was transgender, that 's different again. A girl who is a boy is off limits mate, and don't you forget it. A boy is a girl is on limits. That's i portant to know. Could easily miss the chance for a root if you don't know it. And I tell you straight, it can be confusing. The upside is: If you make a mistake, you can always put it down to experience, so long as whoever you rooted is satisfied. That's imperative. It's a matter of Oztralian pride. Rooting a transgender who is a man in a woman's body is a mistake anyone could make. And it certainly beats rooting sheep, male or female. But if you leave 'em unsatisfied, well, it's fuckin' un-Oztraluan, mate. Bloody un-Oztraluan! And what's this 'making love' business when it's at home? It's only rooting down here. We don't go in for that esoteric stuff you do in the uncivilised north."

"Just so," the Doctor said. "Now, about this machinery. Are you sure it's not just normal mining machinery? Those noises coming up from down there don't sound peculiar at all."

The potter and Petty listened carefully for a few seconds.

"Yep," the potter agreed. "That's not peculiar noises as I now consider it."

"Was the noise different last time you listened?" Petty asked in an attempt to clarify the matter.

"Nuh," answered the potter. "Same noise as ladt time. Same. Exactly. Not different by a semi-tone."

Petty stared at the potter for a moment. Then he said. "Fucking dumb convict!"

"Must have been that cheese-robot poo I gobbled down," the potter said, sounding ever so slightly crestfallen. "Not only did it give me a foul case of the off-custard dessert-farts, but I went all a bit wonky in the brain department, apparently....  Shit happens, as we say, and that shit was the worse shit I ever ate. Shit is not something I am particularly knowledgeable about, I'd have you know, mate. Not my forte. I leave that to the French."

"The French don't eat shit," the Doctor gently informed him.

"Don't they?" the potter replied with eyebrows raised. "Well, well... You know, don't want to sound doubtful, but me brother, Bruce, went touring in Frenchieland about six years ago or thereabouts. He reckons that French food was shit. Certainly not snags on the barbie, know what I mean? You sure they don't eat shit?"



To be continued...

6

"I am going back to the Tardis," Petty mumbled and walked away. "Times come and times go and every story ends some time."

"I wonder what he means by that?" The Doctor wondered aloud. "He sounded almost existential just then. I must go and find out if Petty really does exist or not." And the Doctor hurried after him.

"Well, stone the crows" the potter exhaled in surprise as he watched them go. "The 21st Century does throw up its surprise. Can barely begin to imagine what it will be like in the next one... my gawd! Is that a missile from Mars whistling through the sky? Well, stone the...."


The End

{{Every story may end sometime but this one seemed a tad abrupt!! And just when I was hoping for more authentic Ozzy cunning lingual!
I demand the last chapter be revised so the tale can continue, it surely has more genius to give! }}}

Epilogue... part 1...


"Amazing to say," the potter said suddenly, "that ain't a missile from Mars at all... its not even a missile... it's a footy."

And being the true Oztralian he was, he ran forward and leaped high above the sunburnt earth and grabbed the 'footy' (???) before it could land.

Petty, just about to enter the Tardis, turned to see the unusual turn of events.

The Doctor stopped and looked back too.

"What the hell is that?" Petty wanted to know. "A large red egg? I know I'll regret this, but I think we should go back and investigate. I mean, otherwise this adventure would have seemed to end a wee bit abrupt, and certainly in no way brilliantly: not that you would expect the latter aspect in these out of the way places, literarily speaking."

"It's a football," the Doctor informed him.

"What? No it's not. It's shaped like an egg.. oh you mean a Rugby egg-ball. I've heard of them."

"No, it's what they call an Ozzie Rules ball. It's a game they invented because of their convict unwillingness to conform to what respectable folk do; mind they have stolen all the rules from other countries being one and all true convicts. Yes, everything is stolen in the game, in fact, all the rules from other games from all around the world."

'What do you mean?"

"Well, they can kick the ball, and punch the ball... though they can't throw the ball, because they find throwing balls a pansy activity....and round balls bounce and perform too predictably for their liking....and they can go anywhere they want... and every player is a goal keeper, and every one is a striker, and they have scrum halves and centre backs and quarter backs and strikers... I already said that, didn't I.... and wingers and midfielders and forwards and... mind, they don't call them that... and they can assault you and jump on people's heads... as long as they're trying to catch the ball... and you can get behinds... which is a single point for missing by not too big a measure... ... and goals are worth six points... presumably as a reward for not missing.... mind you, if you miss by too far, you get no points, because it's not a behind....."

'Enough! Enough! It's all Irish to me!"

"Not all Irish. Only the Irish bits they stole... And, of course, Oztralians are far odder than the Irish, not so much improved as extended, or so they claim...ultra-Irish, I guess...."

"But where did that egg-ball come from?"

"Oh there is another chap over to our left, see! behind that straggle of weedy mallees... looks like an older version of the potter. Probably his brother Bruce, I'd hazard."

And the Doctor (as usual) was right. It was the potter's brother, Bruce. He gambolled over on his long legs and shook the potter's hand firmly. "How ya goin' cobber," they heard him greet the potter. "How are things hangin', son?"  

"Not hangin' good, no way, mate. It's them cheese-robots. They're causin' all sorts of strife. Worse trouble than me Missus, Gertie, I tells ya. Stone the crows! Hoped they'd be sorted out by that Sheilah standin' over there by that blue box with a Police sign on it. Ya know, it's a spaceship. Fuckin true. The other chap's a Scottie. Oh yeah, the sheilah's not actually a Sheilah, but, boyo, she's definitely a man I'd like to dip with my dipstick... maybe twice... mind, she's not a man, neither, which is fair enough, 'cause she sure looks like a damn Sheilah."

"A hot man-Sheilah if I ever saw one. Could turn a man on, a man like that. Reminds me of me first Missus, cobber."

"You mean Pam?"

"Nah, my first wife, Jan."

"Oh yeah, I do remember now... The one the was a bit butch."

"Yeah. That's her. The one with the beard. Good drinker, she was. Great beer gut. Though that penis of hers gave me cause to question as time bore on. Still, if she hadn't done the dirty on me we still might be together; still, she went and dipwicked another woman. A man don't hold with that kind of behaviour, not where that kind of thing ain't covered by holy matrimony. Bloody lesbian!" A tear formed in Bruce's right eye.

"Irritating convicts! Changed my mind again.... Let's go!" Petty grumbled.

"No," the Doctor said sombrely. "The potter has pricked my conscience. I really should sort out this cheese-robot business. Absurd, really, but it's what I do."

And, of course, as any Who fans here would know, what the Doctor said was true.


End of Epilogue 1

"A hot man-Sheilah if I ever saw one. Could turn a man on, a man like that. Reminds me of me first Missus, cobber."


{{ Fantastic! }}

'Absurd, really, but it's what I do."

And, of course, as any Who fans here would know, what the Doctor said was true.'

{{Never a truer word said in jest! }}

Strange thing to say, but Ol' Anon hasn't heard from the New Guard over at Dr Who Land. You'd think, with the new shaped and comportioned Doctor, they'd be looking for some fresh ideas, possibly Oztralian....

Epilogue.... part 2


"Hello, I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said as she (?) approached the tall and rather handsome (by Oztralian standards, at least) potter's brother, Bruce.

Bruce took her hand firmly in handshake greeting and crushed it. (Lucky, the Doctor's current form was made up of paper mâché, sponge foam and expandable-contractable atoms along with her faux-girly bits, so no bones were cracked, there being none; at least, not in her right hand).

"G'day, mate. Me brother's told me a lot about ya. Least, all I need to know. You know, if you had a beard, you'd damn near turn me queer, with a capital 'k'. Know what I mean. Though, he did say, you're neither a man or woman, hey - or either, neither. Foreign, then?"

"I am a Time Lord from Gallifrey."

"Gallifrey? Sounds a bit gay in my opinion, but never you mind, Doc. We don't much care for foreigners, specially from foreign countries, but you look good to an irrigator like meself. Damn orright." And Bruce gave her a good old Oztralian wink that was plain as day in its inferences. "Not that I go in for dipsticking foreigners as a rule," he added as way of apology and explanation for his hypocritical common Oztralian sensibilities. "Too open minded, I reckon. I do often make exceptions."

"Well, perhaps we could discuss these things later, I am here to sort out this cheese-robot affair."

"No affair as far as I know, love. Just peculiar behaviour. Bloody baffling, those cheese-robots I 'ave to say. Bloody baffling. I mean, why? Who'd ever of thought up such a thing. I don't watch much TV, but I spose it would have to be a bad scientist. Maybe some bad bad scientists. Stands to reason. Probably German. Better engineers you won't find though..."

"Yes, it is always the Germans, I guess," the Doctor said drily. "Now, can you show me where their secret base is? I assume they have one."

"You'd be right, love, and are. Come along. But we need to go careful. Those cheese-robots have expectopumelers. Good ones. You know the, German ones. Not them cheap as chips Chinese imitations that ooze expectorant through their sieves."

"Expectopummelers?" Petty winced. ""What the frock are they?"

"They, my Scottie friend," Bruce told him sombrely, "are fuckin' dangerous. You watch your step. Remember, do as I say and you'll probably only get half-killed. Are you rememberin'? Bloody hope you are, sonny Jim. If you don't, and I don't wanta belabour the point, but if you don't, it could be even worse. Maybe by a third, even a whole half, and you know what that means. Sure you do! It means near death or even closer. Maybe the whole hog, even, and no one would wish that on anyone, not even a Scot. Now, shut ya gob, mate, or I'll shut it for ya. You may have to slide on your belly like a brown snake part of the way. Sorry, Miss, it may mean grazed breasts. I assume that's what they are, real or mere attachments. Can't be helped. Those cheese-robots have eyes like wedged tail eagles. I'll show you how if it comes to that. Explaining it now will only confuse ya's. Come on."



To e continued...

Epilogue... part 3...

"Now, what's known, Miss or Sir," Bruce was telling the Doctor as they sidewinded on their tummies through the shale and spinifex like blue bellied tiger snakes, "is that the trouser snake is an Oztralian's best friend. Beer hosin', breedin' and comfort in the night..."

"And what you think with," opined the Doctor drily.

"Sure as hell you're a wit, a great wit for a sheilah-bloke anyhow."

"And by no means a half wit," the potter added admiringly.

They had come to an outcrop of hot baked rocks and climbed to their feet, dusting themselves off and reassembling their skirt, long-shorts and kilt.

"What now?" Petty wanted to know.

"Now, Pete, this will take some care and caution and quite a bit of sneakiness," Bruce said solemnly. "First we'll take a secret gander at what's happening on the other side of these rocks. The cheese-robot greenhouse is there."

"Greenhouse?" the Doctor asked.

"Yep. And hopefully the cheese-robots will be too busy cultivating their cucumbers and melons to notice us while we have a bit of a perve."

"Cucumbers and melons?"

"Yep. And if we're real lucky, they will be so abosorbed in their cultivatin' we can take a few photos to take back to me command centre."

"Command centre?"

"Yep. And when we get back we can analyse them photos."

"To decide what varieties of cucumbers and melons they are?"

"Yep. Them cucumbers and melons are important. Why else would them cheese-robots come to the Mallee and grow 'em?"

"Do the cucumbers look circumcised and do the melons have nipples?" the Doctor asked, somewhat suspicious.

"Yep. It's a mystery. But maybe if we look really close at them, close ups are required, we might learn something informative about those cucumbers and melons."

"Maybe they're creating a new race of vegetable people!" Petty broke in, somewhat excritedly, and even more hopefully.

"What? Veggie-cybemen, Petty?" the Doctor enquirer drily.

"Well," Petty said a little self-consciously. "It's possible."

"And what would be the point of that?"

"Um... I don't know."

"What if them cheese-robots are experimentng on making cybermen out of photosynthesis," the potter put in. "Plenty of sun out here in the outback. You know, growing them as plants. Imagine! They could grow cybermen from seed. Imagine how many they could grow at once! Way out in the back of beyond where hardly anyone lives, and them who do sunburnt and prone to the drink? That would be a cunning plan. And when there's enough of 'em they can take over the universe..." the potter's voice fell away, perhas in horror, perhaps in surprise that an actual semi-feasible plot had come out of his own mouth.

A silence fell. A pregnant one. Like in all the best Doctor Who episodes. Well, not really, but at least half decent ones.... which, of course, was somewhat of a surprise, stone the crows.



To be continued...

Epilogue... part 4..final act...


The funny thing was, by the time they got to the secret Cyberman-growing greenhouse, nothing was there.

“This a strange turn up for the books,” said the Doctor. “Now, Bruce, are you sure this is where that green house should be - beside this coolabah tree next to a boolabong that dried out during the Jurassic?”

Bruce scratched his head in superplexpation. “Well, if i’m not Halfwits halfsister dressed as a bloke, but it was here. See that cockatoo. Yep, that one. On the rock. Well, the greenhouse was right behind it. And, look there! If that’s not a dried up cheese-robot just beyond that tuft  gift of spinifex, then i’m not a darn fine potter, which I am, just like my handsome brother, the potter, at least ever since I sorted out that cracking problem. What’s it all mean? But hang on a mo. There’s news i’m just receiving over me two way walkie talkie... Words coming in that those seed raised cybermen took off in their spaceship ‘cause of things happening in another part of the multiverse - whatever that means...”

“And?” Petty wanted to know, replacing his Buckie where he was wont to keep it after taking a quick secretive swig. 

“Well, it appears, according to me mate Dave in Birdsville, that there’s a new Doctor in town, cobber me dead! And... hang on.. this new one is woman-like too, but still a Timelord... go figure... weird.. anyway, the cybermen have fled, because the multiverse isn’t big enough for them AND two women-like Doctors, apparently... or something like that...”

“Another woman-like Doctor!” Petty exclaimed. “All I have to say is: what a turnip for the boots!”

“I guess the compensation for us is that we had a woman-like Doctor first,” the Doctor said, with a touch of relief in her voice. “Oh well, shit happens, as they say in Ozhobbitland. Come on Petty. It seems my run has finished as abruptly as it started in Doctor Who tradition. Let’s get back to the Tardis. I know a great little shoe shop in the Thirtieth Century in Galaxy ZXP34652v which i’ve been dying to visit for a long time... about three hundred years... come along now... ...” 



The End....