The Doctor dusted off his velvet lapels and straightened his frilled shirt, surveying the eerie silence of the Death Zone. The Dark Tower loomed in the distance, but its mysteries were behind him now. With a sigh, he turned to Sarah Jane Smith, who stood beside him, arms folded, gazing thoughtfully at the smouldering wreckage of their journey.
Sarah shifted uncomfortably. “Doctor, what if more Cybermen show up? We barely made it out as it is!”
The Doctor gave her a reassuring smile. “I shouldn’t think so, Sarah. The Death Zone is dormant at the moment. No one’s playing the game anymore.”
“So it just… shuts off?” she asked, dubious.
“Precisely,” he said, tapping his nose. “No players, no contest. Even the most diabolical traps lose their bite when there’s no one left to spring them.”
Sarah let out a slow breath, still glancing around warily. “If you say so, Doctor. I just hope you’re right.”
The Doctor gave her a reassuring nod. “Trust me, Sarah. Now then—” he clapped his hands together—”we mustn’t forget Bessie.”
Sarah blinked. “Bessie? But she—she broke down, remember? Thanks to those strange energy blasts that struck her—whatever they were.”
The Doctor gave a knowing chuckle and strode off in the direction of the battered yellow roadster. Sure enough, there she was, nestled amidst the ruined terrain, her bonnet scorched but her spirit undimmed.
With a flourish, the Doctor withdrew his TARDIS key and approached the blue police box that had, only moments before, been the centrepiece of their escape. “A quick retrieval operation, Sarah. Stand back.”
The familiar wheezing-groaning sound filled the air as the TARDIS dematerialised from its place and immediately reappeared around the stranded motorcar. With Bessie safely aboard, the Doctor leaned out of the TARDIS doors and called, “Well, don’t just stand there, Sarah! Hop in!” With a shake of her head and a small smile, Sarah stepped inside, closing the doors behind her.
“And now,” the Doctor announced, setting the controls with a flourish, “we shall be off! South Croydon, as promised!”
Sarah perched herself against the console, watching as the time rotor rose and fell with its steady, hypnotic rhythm. “You mean I actually get dropped off where I’m meant to be for once?”
“Well, almost,” the Doctor admitted, his eyes twinkling. “There’s just one small favour I must ask of you.”
“Oh, here we go,” she sighed theatrically. “What now?”
“Bessie must be returned to the Brigadier. I daresay he’ll be rather pleased to have her back. And as for that fellow with the teeth and curls—let’s hope he treats her with the respect she deserves.”
Sarah frowned. “But… how exactly is she supposed to fit through those tiny TARDIS doors?”
The Doctor’s face split into a broad grin. “Ah, my dear Sarah. Some things are best observed rather than explained. But before you do—” He reached into his coat and produced a familiar purse, handing it to her with a flourish.
Sarah’s eyes widened as she took it. “My purse! But—I lost this when that blasted Time Scoop snatched me at the bus stop! How—?”
The Doctor simply gave a knowing smile, adjusting his cuffs. “Now, now, Sarah. A magician never reveals all his tricks. Into the driver’s seat, if you please.”
Still dubious, Sarah clambered into Bessie as the TARDIS materialised near the garage where she had originally left her car for repairs. The moment she looked up, she was still in the TARDIS console room, its golden light casting a familiar glow over the intricate controls. Sarah crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Now what?”
The Doctor chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now, my dear Sarah, you go exactly where you need to be. And I, as ever, shall be off to find more trouble.” He reached for the console, giving her a jaunty wave as he did so. With a knowing smile, he pulled a switch, and the room around her faded. In an instant, the golden glow of the console room vanished, and she found herself still in Bessie, but now parked on a quiet South Croydon street.
Sarah blinked, adjusting to the sudden shift, then glanced around—no sign of the TARDIS, just a row of red-bricked houses and a small corner shop with newspapers and sweets in its dusty window. Nearby, the garage where she’d left her car stood as she had last seen it, nestled between the terraced houses and the shop. A double-decker bus trundled past, its passengers oblivious to the peculiar arrival that had just taken place.
“Well, that’s one way to deliver a car,” she murmured, shaking her head in bemusement. She climbed out, brushing her hands together, and scanned the pavement. Spying a telephone box, she fished through her purse, muttering, “Where did I put that UNIT business card?”
At UNIT headquarters, the air buzzed with camaraderie as UNIT personnel gathered for the long-anticipated reunion, celebrating years of service and shared adventures in full swing. Officers and staff mingled, exchanging war stories over a well-stocked buffet. Colonel Crichton stood by, his curiosity piqued by the animated tales of his predecessor’s exploits.
Then, without warning, a familiar groaning noise filled the air. The assembled guests turned just in time to see the TARDIS materialise directly on top of the buffet table. With an almighty crash, the heavy oak table buckled beneath the sudden weight of the TARDIS, sending silver platters, jellied trifles, and carefully arranged canapés flying in all directions. The wreckage scattered across the floor as a cloud of smoke billowed forth, mingling with the scent of crushed vol-au-vents and spilled punch.
The doors swung open to reveal the Doctor—his Second incarnation, that is—stepping out with an impish grin. Right behind him, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart followed, dusting crumbs from his uniform and scowling.
“Doctor, you really must work on your landings,” he remarked dryly, surveying the chaos.
“Oh, nonsense, Brigadier! You should be grateful I got us here at all!” The Doctor peered around at the devastation. “Buffet’s seen better days, though.”
From his post, a UNIT sergeant answered a ringing telephone and soon called out, “Sir, a Miss Smith is on the line for you. She says it’s urgent.”
The Brigadier exhaled through his nose and took the receiver. “Sarah? But—I only just saw you in the Dark Tower! What on Earth is going on?”
On the other end, Sarah Jane Smith stood at the telephone box, glancing at Bessie. “Brigadier, I think you might need to send someone to South Croydon. There’s a rather familiar yellow motorcar here that I believe belongs to you.”
The Brigadier sighed, rubbing his temple. “Colonel Crichton, would you be so kind as to send a man to collect a certain vehicle? I suspect this will be quite the tale.”
As he hung up, the Doctor adjusted his bowtie, looking ever so pleased with himself. “Well, that’s my part done! Time to be off. Brigadier, always a pleasure!”
The Brigadier barely had time to reply before the TARDIS dematerialised once more, leaving behind a room full of stunned UNIT personnel, a ruined buffet, and a bemused Colonel Crichton shaking his head.
Years later, within a secure UNIT storage facility, a young officer flipped through requisition papers. The operation near Lake Vortigern was already in motion. UNIT, under the command of Brigadier Winifred Bambera, was overseeing the transport of a nuclear missile when unexpected complications arose. The convoy had suffered a series of inexplicable equipment failures, and reports of armour-clad knights appearing and vanishing without a trace had thrown the mission into further disarray. In response, Bambera had urgently requested additional supplies from UNIT HQ to ensure the success of the operation. Then, amidst the usual lists of munitions and equipment, one unusual entry caught his eye.
He frowned, adjusting his glasses. “The old yellow convertible? Bessie?”
His superior, a seasoned veteran of countless UNIT operations and no stranger to the Doctor’s eccentricities, nodded. He had seen alien invasions, mind-controlling parasites, and more than one iteration of the Doctor himself. If there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was that when a request like this appeared, it was best not to question it. “It’s about time we brought her back into action. Wouldn’t you agree?”