Inspired by the laughable joke that is the British government at the moment, I wrote this short story of an alternative Third Doctor who was exiled to Earth, but events went differently for her. I don't own Doctor Who, sadly enough.
X
The British Prime Minister.
By TimeTraveller-1900.
The new British Prime Minister took a deep breath as she glided through the corridors of Downing Street towards the Cabinet Room, her high-heeled shoes clicking with each step, escorted by various aides while she accepted red folders from passing assistants.
"Military protocol, ma'am," one said.
"Finance reports, ma'am," another said. Ah, she had been waiting for that one.
"Policy recommendations."
The woman held back the urge to snicker, although it was almost a disgusted sneer. She hadn't originally set out to become the Prime Minister. She hated politics, hated the pointless squabbling, the backstabbing… one of the key reasons why she had left Gallifrey in the first place was because she had become sick and tired of the endless games and backstabbing from the High Council, to say nothing of the Academy.
Once she was granted her beloved Type 40, she had, as the humans said, hightailed it out of there and the Time Lords would never see her again. Sadly the necessity of calling them in during that mess with the War Games put paid to that plan for good.
However, once he had begun interfering in the 20th century after giving the Time Lord tribunal a good account of what she had faced in the years since she had left Gallifrey, she wasn't able to resist after a while. Alright, granted, it was recent; she had spent years working on moving history along in her exile to Earth before her freedom came when Morbius returned and created a new race of Daleks and Cybermen and switched Gallifrey off to conquer the multiverses after snatching Earth and Gallifrey out of their respective points in the universe, and taking them to the Medusa Cascade to tear open the quantum gateway.
She had been freed after stopping that disaster, and yet she kept coming to planet Earth to meddle in its history. The idea of becoming PM appealed to her although she had no intention of playing the game the way the humans did. And human politicians were tame compared to their counterparts on Gallifrey.
She had no intention of playing games with politics in the 20th century. Her time working with Winston Churchill, Quatermass, and moving human technological progress along had taken up a great deal of her focus. While the Golden Age had flourished under Harriet Jones and everyone prospered, the conservative party had taken a terrible battering. Hypnotising Sir Keir Starmer had been a piece of cake and making him step down so she could take his place had been a pleasure.
In her mind, Starmer was a fool.
Starmer, like so many of his ilk, had no clue, not a single clue what was needed to get the country back up and running. They talked about how they were no different from the working classes that they supported, but after all not many working-class people had ever gone to Oxford, or Cambridge, had they?
Not her.
They also hadn't suggested any way of getting Britain out of its funk even as Johnson and Truss gladly undid the good work Harriet Jones had done for the country during her reign, but ever since she had given the country the image that she had their best interests at heart - not an easy thing to do, even when she had broken the Laws of Time, not that she truly cared since her exile to Earth, and she had interspersed her time between helping dear old Winston Churchill and Professor Quatermass, spending her time in the Tube either in the factory making weapons of mass destruction, giving Churchill advanced aid like the electromagnetic forcefields she had constructed for the Spitfires and the missiles to bombard Germany, or helping out in the fields as a land girl, while using her limited control and access to her TARDIS to rewind time back.
It had taken her decades, but she had found herself with the working classes and she had gained an appreciation for them over the years.
Once Starmer resigned as Labour leader and passed it off to her, a relative newcomer, speculation ran rampant until she began speaking, using her full access to the Archangel network to subtly brainwash people since she didn't have the patience to use her already innate gift for getting people on her side not without some kind of help.
The British people had accepted her as their new PM. It helped matters that she had spent the last few decades building up a number of aerospace businesses aimed at exploring space, and she had made sure Harriet Jones had made sure the hydrogen energy plants and the alternative energy sources came into effect and replaced a large quarter of the British energy sources and much of Europe's as well. And she had made sure that Harriet Jones had fixed the damage Beeching had made with the railways, focusing on light rail and monorail trains, reopening old branch lines and old routes to clear up the carbon content while pioneering British spacecraft development further.
And with Archangel in activation, she knew she could have the chance to die some good. The Time Lords had accused her of meddling, and after a while, she had come to see that they already saw her as a time meddler so she realised she didn't have any real reason not to interfere.
Entering the British cabinet office, the Prime Minister smiled as she took in the faces seated around the table.
"Good morning, everyone," the Prime Minister smiled, a dangerous look on her face, "this country has been sick, and it needs healing. In fact, I would go far as to say this country needs a Doctor."