A Pun’s Prequel

In the TARDIS later on, the mood is low, to say the least. I can’t tell if Timeless currently fears, respects or dislikes me now, from what I attempted. To avoid an awkward departure from Lanipus, I’ve sent him off exploring the depths of my ship. For all I know, he could be miles away by now. Physically and/or mentally.

I’d like to thank him at least, for saving me. Most people who have rescued me, I’ve offered them a one-off trip through time and space. Bit more difficult when we’ve been doing that for a while now. I’ll leave him to his explorations for now. Maybe he’ll find the room that could, once and for all, prove Time’s relevance.

Doubt it. Through the TARDIS’ psychic parameters, he might just stumble into the bar district. I wouldn’t judge him, I could go for something to wash down the rooty delicacies of Lanipus. Might just find some chewitts around here somewhere. Or maybe something more wholesome.

Now there’s a thought. A way of combining gratitude for my bewildering companion,  with some worthwhile dinner plans…

Somewhere in the mind-shatteringly vastness of creation, a train is moving. One in particular, one very important and unforgettable train. No-one knows where it comes from, where it goes, or even what its exterior looks like. But they all know this: that the point of the journey is not knowledge, truth or perspective; but just pure, carefree existence. We all ride that train, at least once, and are likely to become far greater from the experience.

And by some random, Life’s-having-a-laugh happenstance that I doubt Einstein, Galileo and that brainy computer from Hitchhiker’s Guide could work out between them, the train also has the most incredible catering in known creation. Including the all-time, best steaks; and I say that after a millennium alive and a multitude of cooked and consumed dead cows along the way.

That’s it then. How can Timeless pass up that thank-you gift? A journey, a chance to meet a grand variety of beings from across the universe; and with a great side of meat.

Rather like a worrisome person at Christmas, I’m wondering if Timeless’ gift will have been experienced before. I mean, ‘a regular’ isn’t a common phrase on the train, but he is a walking enigma. Who knows where he’s been before the TARDIS crashed into his Brighton visit. Although to reach this particular train, he would have needed the use of a Gallifreyian-class dimension-manipulating time machine; and there’s only two of those to choose from.

Time we set off. “Timeless,” I say into the intercom, “if you find a route, get back to the console room. It’s about time for dinner, and I know just where to go.”



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