A Routine Traffic Stop
"So, where did you say we were going?"
"I'm not sure. I think I've forgotten."
"You were only talking about it a minute ago." The Doctor peered at Rory through his 1930's flying goggles.
"That's as maybe, but then, seeing as how time is just a big ball of wibbley wobbly, timey wimey . . . stuff" he gestured with his hands to indicate what time looked like, "in some areas of time, I haven't even started thinking about it yet. And in others, we're already there, having a jolly old time."
"You're impossible."
"No, just very, very improbable."
"I give up."
"Good."
At that moment, Amy walked into the control room.
"Are you two still arguing?"
"No."
"Yes." The two men frowned at each other, but before either of them could speak again, green sparks leapt from the console, and an unfortunately high-pitched buzzing sound started. Amy clasped her hands over her ears.
"What the hell is that?"
"Ah." The Doctor danced around the console, flicking switches, pulling levers and knocking over a pile of books which had, up until that point, being perfectly happy balancing precariously on the side of the controls.
"What do you mean 'ah'?" Rory bent down to pick up the books which were now floundering helplessly on the floor.
As if in answer to his question, a suspiciously familiar siren started, and the screen lit up, showing a rather harassed-looking blue man in a pointy hat. Part of Rory suddenly wondered if the Elves from the Lord of the Rings were in fact real – and living in outer space. Stranger things had happened.
"You have entered an area of Restricted Space. Pull over and disengage all engines. This is the police."
"Space police?" Amy mouthed at Rory, who shrugged. Blue space police Elves, he thought to himself. What would Tolkien say? Probably something in Elfish, no doubt. And what next? Hobbits acting as barristers? Gollum in the ambulance service? People simply walking into Mordor? He shook his head. The idea was folly.
"I could have sworn that the speed limit here was three light-years an hour." The Doctor muttered to himself as he complied with the police man's orders.
"Why do they have the same sirens as the police cars on Earth?"
"Because, Rory," said the Doctor in the tone that teachers use with particularly dim children, "it is the Universal standard. That way, everyone everywhere knows when the police are coming. They do like to make an entrance."
"I thought you said the Judoon were the space police."
"These must be special branch."
"Doing traffic stops? Are you sure they're not after you for anything?" Amy asked, only half joking.
"Please transmit all your paper work and other documents." The police man on the screen looked slightly annoyed at being ignored. "Including a valid inter-galactic pilot's licence."
"Ah," the Doctor said again. Amy turned to him.
"Please tell me you have a licence." The Doctor, to his credit, did manage to look sheepish.
"I did have one, once . . ." He trailed off under her withering glare.
"Look, I can hear everything you're saying." The police man had his arms crossed now. "And if you are driving without a valid licence, then I'm going to have to escort you to the nearest area of police jurisdiction."
Reluctantly, the Doctor followed the police ship's energy readout, desperately trying to think of an excuse which would cover every misdemeanour they would surely drag up. Somehow he felt that 'sorry' wasn't going to be quite enough.