"This thing is dangerous," said the Doctor sitting down firmly on the side bench of the bus. "How would it be if I traveled around space with the back door of the Tardis left open?"

Martha and Craig laughed at his discomfort from their already seated positions. The gloomy lights of the Strand in the rain passed by outside the windows.

"You should have run faster," said Martha. She nudged Craig with her elbow. "You need the exercise." They both laughed again.

"It's all a matter of timing," added Craig. "It's saves a lot of time waiting for the next one if you can hop on while it's at the lights."

"Put your umbrellas here," ordered the conductor from the running board at the back of the Routemaster. The rain from the resting umbrellas ran smoothly down the wooden decking of the lower deck. He pointed at a storage space under the steep stairs that lead to the top deck.

The Doctor offered his wizened black umbrella to the conductor with a smile. "Would you mind?"

But the man declined and pointed again to the store with his thumb. "Your property," he declared.

The Doctor sighed, staggered off his seat and braced himself by the luggage store. "The gravitational pull is totally unnecessary on a vehicle from this time," he remarked. "Pass me your brolly, Craig, before I fall out."

"Fares please," said the conductor as the Doctor sat down again. He nodded only to the three newcomers.

"I'm sure you'll find this sufficient," said the Doctor producing a small plastic card wallet from his waistcoat pocket. He turned to Martha and winked. She rubbed her forehead in embarrassment.

"What is 'Oyster Card'?" said the conductor pointing. He leaned forward to look out of the side window and gave a light tap on the cord running along the roof. A pair of tiny chimes could be heard within the shell of the bus as it continued on efficiently past the empty bus stop.

The Doctor turned the psychic paper to look at it. Of course it was blank. He whispered to Craig and Martha "I don't know. What is 'Oyster Card'?"

Craig replied. "Something Harold Saxon introduced to keep tabs on us all. But good for the tube. You can't use it here though. Why have you got an Oyster Card?"

"I don't," hissed the Doctor. "You two must be projecting onto the psychic paper."

"Don't draw any more attention than you have to Doctor. Just pay the fare," said Martha. "It's probably only pennies."

"Let me deal with this," replied the Doctor. As the conductor looked back, he flourished the psychic paper again. "Three to Traf Square," he demanded with more concentration.

"Welcome to London, your Highness." The conductor tapped the edge of his turban in a curt manner. "That will still be two pence each."

Defeated, the Doctor sat back and let his friends assemble a clumsy collection of brown coins on the coat lying across his lap.

:::

"You should call them the tiki-taka," laughed Craig. "That would be so much funnier." He drummed his fingers jovially on the wooden table top.

"Thank you, but I like to do the naming myself. For all I know that name might be a bit rude in some cultures." The Doctor stared at bubbles on the top of his pint-glass. He seemed suspicious of them.

"What cultures?" Craig chuckled. "It's just a silly football reference. You know. A bit of the old one-touch Spanish soccer?" He was trying to keep his voice audible above the background noise.

The Doctor shrugged. "I might use that on something appropriate in the future. But why waste the easier names like 'tiki-toki'? I can use the obscure cultural references when I get a bit desperate." The Doctor sipped the froth on his beer and licked his top lip.

"Obscure? Ha. That's what I like about you, Doc. Obscure is relative with you." He slapped the Doctor's upper arm.

"Like a lot of things," added Martha. She cradled the glass of white wine in her fingers, savoring each sip. She settled herself comfortably into the atmosphere of the club room. The overpowering cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke made her cough and splutter, but the heavy murmur of chatting voices, conspiring tones and frequent laughter made her feel happy.

"I'm sorry Ronnie wasn't here," she said. "But this is still great. People talking like civilized human beings. It's great."

"Yes," said the Doctor. "You can never be sure with these things. A man has a club named after him for forty years of his life, and the week we turn up, he's in Canada."

"Still," said Craig. "Free drinks and peanuts for the evening. You can't say fairer than that."

"How long have you been chasing those things around the fruit market?" asked Martha. "I've heard talk of some lunatic running about at night for a few weeks now."

The Doctor looked upward in the pretence of thought. "Oh. A week or two. They're a bit boring really. Like little footstools with a clock wheel making them run about on their own. I might even leave them be. They don't seem threatening. No evil plan. No evil mastermind. You know what I mean, Martha?" he winked. "Not on the grand scale of things. Not on any scale really."

"Just decide now," said Craig pointing his finger at the Doctor.

"Decide what?"

"Just say no to chasing little clockwork footstools around bags of rotten veg."

"I have a responsibility, Craig. I have to poke my nose in. I can't help it."

"Do it," he joked.

The Doctor closed his eyes and laughed quietly. "Alright, Craig. I give in. The tiki-toki have defeated me." He began to smile. A weight was lifted from his shoulders.

"Tiki-taka!" shouted Craig. "Say it!" He pointed again.

"Toki!" said the Doctor." Don't push me. The footstools may have defeated me. You will not." Now he was pointing back.

"Oh, boys. Behave," smiled Martha.