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“Hey, Mike?” Crow's voice floated from down the hall of the garden-level apartment.
Mike was in the kitchen, preparing yet another bowl of rice. Ever since their final days aboard the Satellite of Love, he hadn't been able to shake a love for the stuff. Every so often, he'd try a new recipe, but most days, as with this one, it was just a giant bowl of plain rice. “Yeah, Crow?” he called back.
The golden robot walked into the kitchen, holding something small in his hands, which was impressive, considering his arms didn't work. “I was looking for the, um, newspaper, when I found this in your nightstand. I didn't know you owned a pocket watch.”
Mike sighed quietly. Crow and Servo were planning to recreate the Gameradamerung they had never gotten to finish, and Crow had more than likely been looking through Mike's things for props. “It was a gift from my grandfather, which is why I never told you or Servo about it. The rare commemorative plate collection and Digger Smolken albums are one thing, but I'd actually like this watch to survive the next thirty years.”
They were soon joined by Tom Servo, who hovered over from the hall. “Crow, I think I found a good helmet we could use.” He noticed the pocket watch in Crow's hand. “Ooh, hey, what's that?”
“It's my grandfather's pocket watch,” replied Mike.
“Can we use it for our play?” Servo asked, looking over the cover, which was intricately engraved in whorls and roundels. “We need a medallion for the hero.”
Crow chimed in with a “Yeah, can we, Mike?”
“No, you can't,” Mike replied. “In fact, I'll just be taking that back. Forgive me if I don't trust you with my heirlooms.” He took the watch from Crow's non-functional fingers and placed it in his pocket.
“Fine, Doctor Snor-ester,” Servo retorted. “Come on Crow, let's keep looking.”
“Okay. Can we use some of your boxers for Kenny's costume?”
The 'bots having gone back down to work on their show, Mike took his heaping bowl of rice and made himself comfortable on the hand-me-down couch. He turned the television to the game, but then pulled the pocket watch out and studied it. As he turned it over, it slipped from his hands and tumbled to the floor. A stray beam of evening sunlight caused the engravings to shine as the pocket watch landed right on the latch, springing the cover back and exposing the watch inside.
Crow and Servo, having abandoned their performance plans in favor of another game, halted their sea lion-and-squirrel game when Mike's head appeared in the doorway of their one bedroom, his eyes wild. “Come along, you two,” Mike declared. He was cheery but his tone brooked no argument.
The 'bots followed Mike out to the driveway and to their beat-up sedan. Mike opened the back door, and the 'bots got inside. “Uh, Mike?” asked Servo, concerned, as Mike started the ignition and drove down the street. “Where are we going?”
When he didn't respond, Crow tried. “Mike?”
Again, nothing.
Finally, the two robots tried again, Crow deciding to kick Mike's seat for good measure to get his attention. “MIKE!”
This had the desired result, and Mike spoke up. “What?”
“Where are we going?” Servo asked.
“Pick a place, pick a time,” came the flippant reply. “I've got a lot of catching up to do. Though I have to say that the time we spent outside of Ancient Rome wasn't like anything I've ever seen, and I've been there twice.”
The 'bots looked at each other. “Oh, boy. He's snapped,” Crow remarked.
“The poor dope,” Servo agreed. “I can't decide if this is better or worse than the time he thought he was James Lipton.”
“Better,” Crow answered. “He's not quizzing me about the highlights of Ray Liotta's career.”
At this point, Mike pulled over and turned to face the backseat. “I know you're not going to believe me, so I'm going to say this slowly. I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation Kasterborous. One of my former companions was a temp, and I wanted to see what it was like, so I used a chameleon arch to become human. You know, to make it more authentic. Except I ended up in 1993 Minnesota and working for Dr. Forrester, which led to my years of captivity in space with you. We are now driving back to the place in Minnesota where I left my time-and-space ship.” Feeling like he had satisfactorily explained himself, Mike put the car back into gear and headed for the highway.
Crow turned to Servo. “And now it's worse than James Lipton.”
“Mike, honey,” Servo tried to placate his friend. “Let's turn around and go back home. We'll get you some Swiss Miss, and everything will be okay.”
“Forget the Swiss Miss, Servo,” said Crow determinedly. “I’d say, ‘get the clown hammer,’ but it burned in the crash.”
Regardless of the robots' disbelief, the little brown sedan traveled down I-94 West through the night, eventually stopping near an open field not far from Eden Prairie, Minnesota. There, in the grass, stood a box, about 8 feet high and too wide to be confused for a phone booth. The darkness hid most of its features, but it appeared to be a dark blue.
“So,” Crow mused as he looked the box over, “it's a phone booth.”
“No,” Mike replied. “This is my ship, the TARDIS. The chameleon circuit broke a while ago, and it's been stuck looking like a police box ever since. I just never bothered to fix it.”
“Mike, that's a very nice phone booth,” Servo declared, “but you obviously are not well. You have driven us to the outskirts of Nowheresville, and-”
“It's ‘the Doctor,’ actually,” Mike interrupted. “Call me the Doctor.”
“No I will not,” Servo continued, adamant. “Again, here we are in the middle of nowhere with either the most remote phone booth in America or a fancy-looking port-a-potty and you're trying to tell us that you're some kind of alien space lord...”
As Servo ranted on, Mike - that is, the Doctor - turned back to his box and snapped his fingers. The bots’ jaws dropped as the door opened, and light from inside spilled out into the night; the interior of this box – which appeared no more than 6 feet wide on each side – stretched on for yards.
“It’s bigger on the inside, I know,” the Doctor stated nonchalantly. “I get that reaction all the time. Come on in.”
“So why didn’t you tell us this before?” Servo asked, still taking in the TARDIS interior.
“Like I said, I used a chameleon arch to turn myself human. It stored my Time Lord self in that pocket watch, and a perception filter on it made my human self – Mike Nelson, temp from Wisconsin – think it was an heirloom. It wasn’t until I dropped it yesterday that it opened and gave me back my full Time Lord biology. To put it simply, I just didn’t know.” The robots continued to wander around the bridge of the ship, “So, what do you think?”
“I think you just became a whole lot less dopey, Mike,” Crow stated. “I mean, Doctor Mike – I mean – look, can’t we just call you Mike?”
“I suppose,” the Doctor acquiesced. “I know we spent all that time in space together, but you're welcome to come along with me - as my companions, shall we say - and see all those things we couldn't while we were on the Satellite of Love. And no being forced to watch mind-numbingly bad movies - we can do as we please. What do you say?”
Crow and Servo looked at each other, and Servo quipped, “I say, ‘Beam me up, Scotty!’”
“Brilliant!” the Doctor enthused. “But there is one thing we have to get straight. This is my ship, and that means I’m in charge. So do as I say, don’t ask stupid questions, and no more destroying my belongings, or else. Got it?”
The 'bots didn't reply, as they had spread out in the room and started admiring the various consoles. The Doctor smiled to himself and closed the TARDIS door.