yes, *alright*! i *get your point*. you *hardly* need to keep . . . *droning ON* about it, you know . . .

. . . *alright*.

for a woman of *your* caliber? i *very much doubt it*.

-- and *never*, and i *mean* *NEVER*, had i been so offended! the *very notion*: that *billions of billions of years* might pass, that *times* and *tides* go through us *all*, yet *mister blobby*--

-- *excuse me*?

money? *money*?? *MONEY*??? *ohhhh*, will you *bounty hunters* *EVER LEARN* . . . ! i'll have you know that--

( USER MUTED. )

because there is a *ship* carrying some *terrible weapons* i'd like for *you* to *'intercept'*.

i'm a doctor-of-all-trades, i'll have you know.

*testify*? oh, *no*. i'm giving you something *much* more fun!

i'm going to send some data over to your *ship*. have a look through, you'll find some *rather interesting names*, i think. how do you feel about *piracy*?

*cooked* -- very much like *transidyne's GOOSE*!

*fix my tie*? what tie? *this* ( leaning forward, lifting it up, waving its bright, garish pattern in the air: ) is a *cravat*.

( but he follows anyway, one hand in his pockets, the other stroking his chin. he stops, twirls, to face v. )

hmm. i don't suppose you know who *invited us*, do you?

*i* am *usually referred to* as *the doctor*.

*you* ought to watch your language.

yes, i *quite understand*. if i had a *penny* for every *planet* that worshipped me as a *god* . . .. !

the *entire rack*! ( a heavy sigh. ) tut! *really* -- i *am* starting to *regret* inviting you onto my *bowling team*. i *ought* to have gone with josé rizal *after all*!

- / - / - / --- INCOMING CALL . . . --- / - / - / -

@hereforthecat.bsky.social

WHAT?

you'll *use* what you're *given*. do you know *which* parts we need?

i'm actually *not sure* how big it is . . . i've *tried* to measure it before, but i always *lose track*. i *suppose*, *for all intents and purposes*, it's *infinite*. not to mention that the layout is *always* changing.

a large, battered toolbox, fire engine red, old enough to tell you about the wars. ) hmm. yes! that should be all we need. now, the replacement parts . . . i wonder, perhaps the scrapyard shall have something.

a vast array of half-finished projects: a chair, a ventriloquist doll with a slack jaw and eerily unpainted eyes, a chess set, a relief replica of the famous stained glass windows in the alfa-thulian church on greater septima, to name a few . . . the doctor goes up to one of the shelves and picks up

that we, the audience, might expect to see in a garden) room, which look out onto an english country garden on a heady summer's day, sometime in the late 20th century, circa 1985. the room is full of shelves and benches, also made of wood, full of all kinds of tools for any occasion, not to mention

( their first destination is the toolshed. when the doctor pushes open the standard door, they enter into a giant wooden shed, the smell of paint peeler and wood shavings immediately hitting kiki's nose. there are windows at the other end of the (not small, certainly larger than any toolshed

this time he doesn't tell her to follow. she can stay here if she likes, or better yet, get lost -- literally. with his hands in his pockets, he strides for some room that allegedly contains the spare parts she needs. )

*disgusting*?! ( his angry squint. ) if i opened up *your* skull, i'd find the *exact same thing*! *disgusting*....! now i've heard it *all*.

( the doctor pushes open the white door, which leads on into further white corridors, the uniform continuing as far into the depths as kiki can see.

it, pressing through the data. ) there's quite a bit here. i might be going through this for a while.

shall we deal with your *ship* first?

( the doctor arches a brow. ) *that's* what the door into the rest of the ship is for. *this* is the control room! and a very *good one*, at that. i keep her in *excellent shape*.

hmmmm . . . ( looking at the screen beneath the memory core in the console. he presses buttons on the keyboard next to

( a sigh. ) i can *see that*. but who *are* you?

to take some wires from it to plug into the back of the core. he lifts up the bell jar and pushes the two thick black wires into the occipital lobe; they go in with a 'squelch'. )

time and relative dimensions in space. the *tardis*, for short. there we are! should be able to *access* it now . . .

the entire ship is a pocket dimension.

anyway . . . ( he places the memory core on top of one of the three screens jutting out of the console, with their flat, boxed roofs, placed every other panel. he begins to move around the console, pressing various buttons, before ducking under the console

( he strokes the console's edge affectionately on impulse, smiling up as if a teacher with a student who's finally getting it. ) *transdimensional engineering*. rather complicated -- not to mention *tedious*, but to put it simply, it exists in multiple universes *at once*.

oh yes? what do you spend it all on? certainly not *clothes*.

( with a scowl, he vanishes back inside, his voice echoing as if from a greater distance inside than the box could possibly allow: ) humans! *why* i bother i'll *never know* . . .

*fine by me*. you can *wait out here*.

( stepping inside. he pops his head out of the door a moment later. )

strange? *strange*? STRANGE? i think you'll find, *young lady*, that *i* am the very *zenith* of *lucidity*, the *epethesis* of *rationality*. no! *everyone else* is the *strange ones*.