between episodes 10 and 11.
____________________________________________________
It was late-October and there was a crisp chill in the night air, an early autumn herald of the winter that was to come. It was the kind of chill that invigorates the spirit to walk a bit more spryly, to perhaps hum a tune to one’s self and cast a bedazzled eye to the star canopied sky above.
____________________________________________________
How Strax Saved Christmas
by David Long
It was late-October and there was a crisp chill in the night air, an early autumn herald of the winter that was to come. It was the kind of chill that invigorates the spirit to walk a bit more spryly, to perhaps hum a tune to one’s self and cast a bedazzled eye to the star canopied sky above.
The Doctor
did not care for it.
As he exited
the blue police box form of his TARDIS, the Doctor’s thin, black clad form
shivered against the cold.
“Great
Britain”, the Doctor muttered to himself. “Why can’t I ever find a companion
in, I don’t know, Hawaii or the Caribbean?”
But it was
not the warm soil of a tropical paradise that the Doctor walked across but the
cold hard ground of this Earth, this realm, this England.
London, to be
precise.
14 Wallington
Rd to be even more preciser.
It was a nice
home with gilded lanterns by the door and a warm glow from the bay window.
Well, it looked warm.
Shivering, the Doctor approached the front door. He reached into his jacket and began to withdraw his trusty sonic screwdriver. But he stopped and puzzled a moment.
Shivering, the Doctor approached the front door. He reached into his jacket and began to withdraw his trusty sonic screwdriver. But he stopped and puzzled a moment.
“Wait, what
is it that humans do?” the Doctor wondered.
Then he put the screwdriver back in his pocket and knocked on the door.
Then he put the screwdriver back in his pocket and knocked on the door.
With a sudden
whirl of motion, the door was thrown open. Standing in the doorway was Clara
Oswald. The Doctor assumed she looked pretty; he really wasn’t the best judge
of these things. But he could tell she looked harried.
“Doctor! It’s
about time you got here!” Clara exclaimed.
“What? You
just called me a minute ago!” the Doctor replied.
Exasperated,
Clara retorted, “You have a time machine! Why couldn’t you get here before I
called?”
“Now, Clara,
that’s not how time travel…”
The Doctor
trailed off as he caught sight of a figure sitting in a chair with his head in
his hands. It was "P.E." or as Clara insisted on calling him, Danny Pink. He was Clara’s…boyfriend? Were they engaged? He really needed to keep track of these
things better.
“P.E.? Are
you all right?”
Danny groaned
a baleful groan and lifted up his head. His face was all puffy, his cheeks
punched out like a chipmunk and he was squinting through swollen eyelids.
“Huwo,
Docker,” Danny tried to speak through pursed lips.
“Whoa! Clara, what did you do to him?”
Grabbing her
purse and rushing to Danny’s side, Clara replied, “I didn’t go anything to
him!”
“Ahm awirjik
to Brushuhl shprots,” Danny tried to say.
“What?” asked
the Doctor.
“He’s
allergic to Brussell sprouts,” Clara translated.
“Brussel
sprouts?” replied the Doctor incredulously. “Who is allergic to Brussel
sprouts? For that matter, who actually eats Brussell…”
“Not
important,” Clara interrupted as she helped Danny to his feet. “I need to get
Danny to hospital so I need you to watch the kids.”
“The kids?”
The Doctor was shocked. What had he missed? “You two have kids?”
“No, Doctor,
we’re not even…look, Danny and I agreed to look after Mr. Chesterton’s grand
kids. Then…well, Brussel sprouts. I called one of my students, she’s on her way
with her mum but I need you to watch the kids until she gets here.”
The Doctor
looked frantic. “Wait a minute! Kids? Don’t you have any other friends you can
call?”
“Yes, lots,”
Clara said as she bustled Danny towards the door. “But you’re the only one I
know who has a time machine. ‘Bye,
Doctor. And thanks!”
And with the
door shut behind her as the Doctor stood in the foyer, helplessly watching the
closed door fail to re-open and Clara fail to come back in and explain it’s all
a joke.
“Kids,” the
Doctor said. Then he turned from the door and reacted with a start to the three
children behind him.
“Ninja
children?” the Doctor mused. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Hi, my name
is Timmy,” said one of the children, about maybe 7 or 8 years old with a mop of
brown hair on his head.Timmy was dressed in dark blue pajamas that were
rigorously defended by several Spider-Men.
The Doctor
looked down at Timmy and said, simply, “Hello.”
“Hi, I’m
Jillian,” said a little girl from under her halo of brown curls, dressed in her
My Little Pony night gown. “I’m 4,” she added.
“Four?” asked
the Doctor. “Four what?”
“I’m four
years old.”
“Oh.”
“You’re
silly,” Jillian said with a giggle. “Your eyebrows are funny!”
“My eyebrows
are not funny, they’re angry,” clarified the Doctor but it just made little
Jillian giggle again.
The third
child looked up at the Doctor, a young boy, close to Timmy’s age, wearing
pajamas adorned with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He had a head full of
disheveled red hair. No, it was more like a wild creature had escaped from the planet
of the monster red hair and was resting on his head.
“Jillian’s my
baby sister. Timmy’s my cousin. I’m Phred,” he said to the Doctor.
“Fred?”
“Phred. With
a PH.”
The Doctor
sighed , “Phred with a PH, okay.”
“What’s your
name?” asked Timmy.
“I’m the
Doctor,” came the reply.
“Doctor
who?” Jillian rather reasonably inquired.
“Just…the
Doctor.”
“Doctor is
not a proper name,” noted Phred.
“The Doctor,”
the stern man in black corrected the child.
“The Doctor
is not a proper name,” noted Phred more precisely.
“It certainly
is a proper name, “ the Doctor retorted. “It has ‘The’ in front of it!”
“Your first
name is ‘The’?” Timmy asked.
“Why don’t we
go into the living room?” said the Doctor and he guided the three children
there where were comfy chairs and a nice warm fire happily crackling
in the fireplace.
“So what
should we do to pass the time until your human babysitter arrives?”
Timmy and
Phred looked at each other and mouthed the word “human”. Who was this odd
fellow that Miss Clara had left them with?
But before
they could pursue that line of questioning, Jillian made known her choice of
activity.
“Tell us a
story,” she said, firelight dancing in her wide, innocent eyes.
The Doctor
looked down at the little girl, apparently unmoved by Jillian’s precocious
smile. “A story? No, I don’t think so,” he replied.
Timmy and
Phred joined in. “C’mon, Doctor. Tell us a story!”
But the
Doctor would not hear of it. “No, I’m not much of a storyteller, I’m afraid.”
“That’s OK,”
said Timmy, “I want to get out my paints for a while, anyway.”
“And I need to
practice my recorder for music class,” Phred noted.
“Doctor,
would you play dress up with me and my dollies?” Jillian asked.
Then the
Doctor’s face brightened with a smile.
“I know,” he
suggested, “why don’t I tell you a story?”
“Well, you
don’t have to,” offered Phred.
But the
Doctor was insistent. “No, I would love to tell you a story!” Then the smile
disappeared as he pondered. Then he asked, “What kind of story?”
“A Christmas
story!” Jillian said very brightly.
Timmy
concurred. “Yeah, a Christmas story!”
The Doctor
was a bit confused. “Christmas? But Christmas is more than 2 months away!”
But Phred
answered, “No, Christmas starts right after Halloween.”
“Sometimes
before,” Timmy added.
Jillian
pleaded, “Tell us a Christmas story! Please?”
And for a
moment the Doctor wondered how Jillian’s eyes could be so round and wide,
briefly considering she might be some kind of mutant changeling.
As much as he
wasn’t a person for telling stories beyond “Once upon a time” and “The end”,
the Doctor knew the alternative would be paint splattered all over this lovely
home and the air fractured with the high pitch squeaking of a poorly played
recorder. It also would end up with him in a dress playing dolls with a little
girl and he swore over 800 years ago he would never do that.
Again.
“Fine,” said
the Doctor with a barely contained sigh. “I’ll tell you a story. A Christmas
story.”
So the boys
sat on the floor by the Doctor’s feet while Jillian crawled up on the sofa and
sat real uncomfortably close to the Doctor.
The Doctor
looked down awkwardly at the child. Clara would have much to answer for, he thought.
As the
children looked at him earnestly, the Doctor began to tell his tale.
“It was the
night of Christmas Eve,” the Doctor began, his voice surprisingly gentle and
warm. “Christmas Eve right here in London but over a hundred years ago….
The year was 1893 along a tree lined
street with fine houses all snuggled up close to one another against the
December cold. The darkness of night had fallen but the world was still alight
with the glow of street lamps and Christmas candles. Snow was falling, a proper
Christmas snow, painting the streets and grass with a coat of soft luminescent
white. There were people about, last minute shoppers for gifts and tree tinsel
and Christmas pudding, hurrying across streets and down sidewalks.
But this activity is not what concerns
us at this time. No, we must turn our attention to what was happening on one of
the rooftops. For a strange man was puttering about, a strange man from another
world.
He was a squat little fellow, not much
more than 5ft tall. He wore a proper ordinary black Victorian suit but the head
that jutted out of the top of that suit was far from ordinary. It was large,
wide and thick with an odd brown color. He looked very much like a potato. An
alien potato. But this being was no mere potato. He was a Sontaran warrior and
his name was Strax.
Now if you fear that Strax did not
belong there, on that rooftop in London in 1893, well I must correct you. Strax
did indeed belong there. He shared the home beneath his booted feet with the woman
who employed him, the mysterious Madame Vastra, a detective of some
considerable skill who hid behind a veil of dark lace. What she hid was a
subject of rumor and speculation, a face disfigured by accident or disease or
perhaps it was the face of a being from beyond space, beyond time.
Also residing in this abode was a
young woman named Jenny. Jenny was clearly human and served as Madame Vastra’s
maid but more importantly she was Vastra’s friend and confidant.
It was Jenny who came up to the roof
in the chill night of Christmas Eve to see Strax puttering about while casting
anxious glances at the sky.
“Oi, Strax!” Jenny called out. “What are
you doin’ up here then?”
Strax turned and answered, “Why, I’m
preparing our defenses against the coming attack, boy!”
Jenny folded her arms, the sternness
of her expression clear to be seen in the pale starlight. Even Strax had to
notice.
“Er, I mean, girl.”
“Attack? What attack?”
Strax pointed at the star flecked sky,
“Attack from above! He is coming, you know.”
“He is coming?” Jenny asked, not
really sure she liked where this was going.
“Yes, boy..er, girl, a being of immense
power who can traverse the globe in mere seconds. His warp capabilities must be
astounding!”
“Strax, I don’t think…”
But Strax pressed on. “But he uses
this power as an unchecked intruder, invading homes with mysterious ‘packages’
which I surmise must be bombs or at least some form of mind control devices!”
“Strax…”
“He is called….”
Strax furtively looked from side to
side then leaned in closer to Jenny and spoke with a conspiratorial whisper,
“Father Christmas.”
“Father Christmas?!” Jenny exclaimed
as Strax shushes her. “Not so loud! My
sources tell me this Father Christmas has an incredible spy network that
exceeds the known technology of this world and time!”
“Strax, you really don’t …” Jenny began
again but Strax interrupted her again.
“This ‘Father Christmas’ is clearly
bent on dominating this world. So I will intercede to stop this being’s reign
of terror and secure his incredible power for the glory of the Sontaran
Empire!”
“Oi, Strax! How do you intend to do
that?”
Strax began excitedly walking the
perimeter of the snow covered roof. “Yes, I have rigged up these catapults to
hurl cauldrons of burning acid into the sky and remove the threat of this
Father Christmas forever.”
But Jenny had had enough of this
nonsense. “No, no, Strax!” she said forcefully, “that’s not how Christmas
works!”
So Jenny set out to tell Strax about
the true meaning of Christmas and about how it all works. And after 10 minutes
of patiently explaining…
“…and so Father Christmas brings toys
to all the good boys and girls.
Strax was still confused so Jenny
explained it again. And when she was done…
“…and so Father Christmas brings toys
to all the good boys and girls.”
Strax continued to not understand the
meaning of Jenny’s words so she went over it one more time. And when the story
was done once more…
“…and Father Christmas brings toys to
all the good boys and girls.”
And again.
“: …and Father Christmas brings…oh,
never mind!” Jenny threw her hands up in the air in frustration.
“Look, just don’t catapult cauldrons
of acid into the sky! And Strax, do NOT kill anyone without express orders from
Madame Vastra or myself.” And before Strax could object, Jenny turned on her
heel and headed back to the stairwell to the home’s interior.
But then she stopped.
“Strax,” Jenny said, casting a
backward glance at the Sontaran, “Did you prepare any kind of ground defense?”
Strax paused. “Uh. No?”
Jenny arched an eyebrow in Strax’s
direction. “Vastra and I would feel much better if you…checked. Just in case
you…forgot something, eh?”
Jenny proceeded to descend the stairs
from the roof to the interior of the home while Strax stood there in the lightly
falling Christmas snow trying to make sense of her words. A Sontaran warrior
forgets NOTHING! Why would she think he would forget…?
Then the wheels in Strax’s mind turned
ever so slowly as he came to what was for him a sudden revelation. Then he
sighed heavily as his shoulders slumped. “I best get downstairs then.”
So Strax took up his Sontaran blaster
because…well, a good Sontaran warrior never knows when good fortune will provide
an opportune war.
Strax trudged down the stairs until
his path deposited him on the snow covered street. It was a beautiful scene of
lightly falling snow with the echo of Christmas carols resounding through the
chill and the dark.
It was times like this that Strax really missed his flamethrower.
It was times like this that Strax really missed his flamethrower.
But then Strax became aware of a disturbance
in the soft and gentle quiet of this Christmas Eve. This was caused by an
altercation taking place in front of a home across the street. A tall man in a
tall hat was harshly addressing a group of people in front of him who were in
turn arguing back to him. Thanks to Strax’s reconnaissance of Earth, he
recognized the group as a “family”, with a “mother”, a “father” and “children”.
This was a concept that Strax had struggled to accept; after all, the clone
batches on his home planet of Sontar were far more efficient.
With this very heated argument going
on so close to Madame Vastra’ home, Strax decided to investigate in case these
humans posed some kind of a threat.
Oh, how he hoped they posed some kind of a threat.
Oh, how he hoped they posed some kind of a threat.
Strax approached the gathering and
demanded, “What goes on here?” Perhaps it was the dim illumination of the
Christmas Eve night or they were still too distracted by their own concerns but
there was no sign of alarm from those assembled there on the matter of being
addressed by a talking humanoid potato in a suit.
The man in the tall hat answered, “These
people… are past due on the rent and I have been instructed to remove them from
this dwelling!”
“But Mr. Dickenson, how can you be so
cruel?” the father pleaded. “It’s Christmas Eve, sir!”
But the man named Dickenson dismissed
this appeal. “What? Christmas? Bah! What of it? It’s just another excuse to
get something for nothing. Well, you can’t stay here one moment longer without
paying the rent!”
As the children clutched at her
skirts, the mother begged, “Oi, but we have nowhere to go!”
Strax, struggling to follow along with
this melodrama, asked of the one in the tall hat, “So these beings are in
violation of the established authority of this city?”
“Yes, they are!” Dickenson answered
most emphatically.
Strax turned towards the family. “And
you say you have nowhere to go?”
The father shook his head sadly and
said with an air of utter hopelessness, “Nay, we don’t.”
Strax allowed a slight smile to cross
his potato-like visage as he announced, “Well, the solution is quite simple!”
Strax raised his alien weapon and aimed
it at the hapless family. The Sontaran blaster began to hum and glow.
Immediately, the family’s panicked
screams cut through the chill Christmas Eve air as Mr. Dickenson admonished
Strax.
“Good God, man!” Mr. Dickenson
exclaimed. “What is that thing? What are your intentions, sir?”
Strax was confused. “But they have
nowhere to go. And you say they can’t stay here. So a good, quick
disintegration will sort everything out quite nicely.” He added a smile at the
end of that sentence. Humans liked smiles.
But these humans were rather
unappreciative of the Sontaran’s kindness as the father pleaded, “What? You
can’t kill us!”
“Can’t? Bah!” Strax grimaced. “Good
sir, I am a Sontaran warrior. I am quite perfectly capable of killing all
manner of biological life forms!”
The mother gathered her frightened
children about her, the father stood firm with them as they all began to sob.
Mr. Dickenson stood defiant in front
of Strax and protested, “You can’t just murder these people! How can you be so
cruel? It’s Christmas Eve, sir!”
Then Mr. Dickenson stopped with a
realization as cold as the night air around him. Those very words had been said
to him mere moments ago. “It’s Christmas
Eve,” he said again, this time in a hoarse whisper as a tear began to fall down
his face. He began to sob, his crying mingling with the cries of the family
behind him.
And it was at that moment that Strax
made a fateful decision.
Perhaps Strax was moved by the poor family’s plight.
Perhaps Strax was moved by Dickenson’s
remorse.
Perhaps Strax was moved by their
tears.
Perhaps Strax finally understood what
Jenny was trying to explain to him.
Perhaps Strax understood, at last, the
true meaning of Christmas.
Or perhaps…
“Strax,” spoke Jenny from a distant
memory that echoed through his domed head. “Do NOT kill anyone without express
orders from Madame Vastra or myself.”
Strax lowered his weapon.
And in the relief that followed, tears
born of terror became tears of joy mingled with laughter. Still quivering from
nervous laughter, Dickenson spoke to Strax. “Deuced if that wasn’t a daring
strategy,” he said to the Sontaran. “But it made me see how wrong I was. Thank
you, sir! Thank you!”
Strax puzzled on that for a moment
then replied, “You’re…welcome?”
Then Dickenson turned towards the
family. “Oh, please, please forgive me! I will do whatever I can to make sure
you have a home for Christmas, all of you!”
The family was warmed by laughter and
smiles as Dickenson guided them back to the house. One of the children
exclaimed, “Merry Christmas!”
Strax stood in the snow covered street
and pondered what had just occurred.
“Humans,” he muttered to himself.
“Hmph!” And Strax returned to his home on the other side of the street.
And that year, it was a most glorious
Christmas and everyone enjoyed themselves quite a lot, especially after Strax
remembered to remove the acid moat.
With that the
Doctor brought his hands together and said, “And that is the story of how Strax
saved Christmas.”
The Doctor
looked down at his side where little Jillian was snuggled up close, fast
asleep.
Timmy was
incredulous. “Wow! A Christmas story with an alien from outer space? Cool!”
Phred
scrunched up his face. “I don’t know. 1890's? That was back in, what, the Dark
Ages or something? Surely someone would realize that Strax was…”
Phred’s train
of thought was interrupted by the front door opening and closing. It was a
woman and a young girl. The girl was Courtney Woods, a student from Coal Hill
School who had travelled with the Doctor and Clara before.
“Oh, Doctor! Miss
Oswald told my mom she arranged for someone to watch the kids,” Courtney said
with a bemused expression, “but I didn’t expect it would be you!”
“Hello, Courtney,”
the Doctor replied. “I was just finishing up telling the children a story.”
“Yeah!” said
Timmy excitedly. “A Christmas story with a space alien in it!”
“And acid!”
Phred added.
Courtney arched
an eyebrow at the Doctor who shrugged. “Ah, you know, it was just a story.”
“I bet,” Courtney
answered.
Mrs. Woods
gathered the two boys to her. “OK, boys! Off to bed with you.” Then to the
Doctor, she said, “After I get the boys settled in, I’ll take little Jillian
off your hands.”
The Doctor
looked at Courtney’s mother for a moment, his face an expression of stone. Then
slowly a slight, surprisingly gentle smile drew itself over his lined face.
“I’m fine,”
said the Doctor. “Go, take your time.”
Mrs. Woods
nodded her understanding as her daughter joined in to direct the boys from the
room.
“OK then,” said Courtney. “Off we go, boys!”
“OK then,” said Courtney. “Off we go, boys!”
“Good night,
Timmy,” said the Doctor, “Good night, Phred with a PH.”
“Thanks,
Doctor! Good night,” Phred and Timmy both replied as they were guided upstairs
to go to bed.
“Good night,”
said the Doctor softly. Quietly watching the crackling flames dance in the
fireplace, the Doctor put his arm around the slumbering Jillian. The little
girl snuggled even closer to him in her sleep, dreaming her most fantastic
dreams, safely in the company of the Doctor.
No comments:
Post a Comment