The Blue Box

(After several years of endless monsters, mutants, aliens and other pesky disasters and things gone wrong….)

Everyone in the control room looked haggard, worn and in need of some very long shore leave, Captain Lee Crane thought as he rubbed a sore spot on his lower back.  The problem was, things just didn’t seem to let up.  There was simply no time for shore leave.  Aliens, mutations, nature gone wild—the works.   It was as though someone had gone totally berserk and was thinking up one hellacious nasty creature or incident after another.   Sometimes it seemed as though it was all just to torment the Seaview and her crew, he added wryly.  But it was everywhere, at least in or around all the oceans.  Even the admiral was perplexed.   And to Lee that was more alarming than all the out of whack phenomena.  

What could it be?   Could the end of the world dooms-dayers be right?  Admiral Nelson had thwarted their doom and gloom several times, but there had to be a limit and Lee was thinking that limit was getting mighty close.  Even the boat seemed worn out. 

He sighed and walked through the control room, trying to give encouragement to everyone on duty.  Then he paused in alarm as the submarine shuddered slightly before returning to normal.  What now? he thought savagely.   As he was reaching for the com to call the engine room, Sharkey called him. 

“Skipper,” the COB sounded shaken. 

“Yes, Chief, and what was that?”

“Uh, you’re not going to believe this, but, uh, there’s a, uh, box in the missile room.”

“Chief, could you be more specific?  And what caused the little hiccup in our progress?”    That was the best description he could give. 

“I think that’s what caused the boat to, uh, shift, sir.”

“What?  A box?” Lee was feeling more confused and irritated by the second.  “Chief, could you please give me something more concrete to work with?”

“Yessir, it’s blue and it just . . . was there.”

“You mean it materialized in there?” Crane asked, feeling alarm creeping into the mixture of emotions. 

“Yes, sir, it did,” Sharkey said.  

The captain noticed that there were many eyes staring and he ordered the navs to keep a closer watch on where they were going.  Knowing their luck of late, they would run into an escarpment in clear waters.   “Can you bring it forward to the laboratory?” he asked Sharkey.

There was a choked sound and then muffled voices in the background.  “Uh, no, sir.  That would be impossible.”

It was quite obvious that he would have to go down to the missile room himself.  “I’ll be right there, Chief.  If there is the slightest danger from it, sound general quarters.”

“Aye, aye, sir.  And thank you, that would be a very good idea.”  Sharkey sounded visibly relieved. 

Lee wondered if he should call the admiral in on this one, but decided against it right now.  At the very least, he would let him sleep for a few minutes longer.  Lord knew how much Harriman Nelson needed it, after all he and the rest of them had been through.   Handing the conn over to a capable lieutenant, Crane strode down the corridors, climbed down a ladder and was soon approaching the missile room.  Kowalski was waiting at the door.  “Skipper.   You won’t believe this….” 

“I know.  I heard that from the Chief,” he said, his mouth quirked in a very wry smile.  “But don’t you think that after all we’ve seen and been through that there’s not anything on this world or off of it that wouldn’t be believable?”

“I guess if you put it that way, sir, but I still think you aren’t going to believe this,” Ski reiterated with a shrug. 

“Okay, let’s see, then,” Lee replied indulgently.   Kowalski opened the hatch and stepped through.  The captain followed and then promptly stopped in his tracks, gaping.  In front of him stood, massive in its antiquity, an old, blue, very British police call box.   A young, blonde-haired woman was walking around, looking at everything in open-mouthed curiosity.    As he was taking this in, a tall, slender man in a dark leather jacket; someone about his age, Lee figured, although the eyes looked infinitely older, suddenly appeared in front of him, hand outstretched.   

“Hello,” the stranger said with a grin and a very British accent.  “You must be the captain of this ship, er boat, I mean.  You’ve been having a spot of trouble of late.  I’ve come to give you a hand.  It’s the Rantoids, really.  Pesky lot, they are, although some of them can be quite nasty.  Oh, and by the way, I am the Doctor.”

Sharkey was right; he didn’t believe this….   “Doctor--who?” was all he could think of to say as he slowly took the man’s hand.