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| - "A cyberman head! Thank goodness, that'll save me a lot of trouble. This was getting kind of ridiculous. I swear, if I ever see an eldritch tome of unspeakable knowledge again, I'm going to literally tear my head off. OK, now I'm talking to myself again. Whatever 'myself' is. I'd better just get started before you do something I'm going to regret." The Doctor's companions faced a great deal of difficulties normal people didn't have to deal with. Alfie was used to being chased by aliens, held hostage by aliens, held at gunpoint by aliens, or occasionally being partially swallowed by aliens. There were a number of alien-related difficulties which he felt confident in his ability to survive now. But aliens flirting with him... that was new. Only one way to handle that. "Doctor!", shouted Alfie, taking a few steps back from the tentacled wasp creature in front of him. A number of passerby glared at him, usually with more eyes than were strictly necessary. The Planet of the Coffee Shops was turning out to be an odder place than he'd anticipated. The Doctor came hurrying over, stumbling over a sort of lizard-tail that stretched across the narrow street. He muttered apologies as he walked to Alfie. "What seems to be the problem here?" "This... gentleman is flirting with me," replied Alfie uncomfortably. The wasp creature flared its whiskers indignantly. "I did not. I am frankly insulted that you would state such a thing. What could possibly cause you to believe..." "You called me "handsome" and offered to buy me a coffee," retorted Alfie. "Well, yes, I suppose I was flirting," admitted the wasp. The Doctor managed to restrain himself from laughing long enough to take Alfie by the shoulder and lead him away. "51st Century residents," he explained, still chuckling. "Flirting with every living thing in sight has just become part of galactic culture. Just be glad she didn't pinch your bum." "She?", asked Alfie incredulously. The conversation went on, the Doctor still laughing, Alfie still not sure whether or not he should be outraged. Meanwhile, inside a little bag at the Doctor's side, was a Cyberman named Handles. To be honest, he was only part of a Cyberman, but he didn't mind. Handles was quite content with his lot in cyber-life. From inside of his bag, Handles liked to monitor the outside discussions between the Doctor and Alfie. Suddenly, there was a shaking feeling in the bag, and the Doctor's voice could be heard saying "Whoops, terribly sorry." The shaking feeling stopped, and the Doctor's voice became further and further away. "Data examined," reported Handles cheerfully. "Conclusion: theft. I have been stolen." "Hush," hissed a voice. The thief was nervous, and kept shaking the bag all the way to some old warehouse. Well, given what planet they were on, it had probably never been a warehouse. Probably just an abandoned coffee shop for a very large species. The thief took Handles out of his bag and put him on a very old and worn table, next to a stack of old books. The surrounding building interior was dark but very large, with an odd glowing device sitting in a corner. The thief took off his hood, revealing a young human male's face. He began to fiddle with some tools set beside the device. "Look at me," the man was saying. "Stealing a cyberman head. Not even a whole cyberman. Just the head. I bet some Cyber-Controller will be coming after me now." "Negative," replied Handles. "I am not under the authority of a Cyber-Controller. I am under the authority of the Doctor." "A doctor, eh?" The young man distractedly flipped through a couple of his books. "I guess that would be the old guy I took you from. Hopefully he won't cause much trouble."] "The Doctor is the Oncoming Storm," recited Handles in some semblance of cheerfullness. The thief raised an eyebrow. "You're more broken than I thought," he muttered. Suddenly, his hand grasped a wrench and began to bang frantically at the glowing device. "STOP THAT," he roared, slamming his misbehaving hand with his other fist. "BAD HAND. YOU DO NOT HIT THINGS ON YOUR OWN." The thief glared at Handles. "Sorry you had to see that. I'm having a bit of a rough time right now. Why am I talking to a cyberman head." Handles wasn't paying attention to that, though. He was scanning his surroundings, picking up every detail of the building's construction. Old potholes in the floor--likely would have been filled with dirt, so large plants could be grown. Whatever species started to build this coffee shop would have been forest dwellers. On the walls were a number of dusty grey devices plugged into slots. Sigma-7 atmospheric compressors. Whatever aliens built this place liked their air to be thick. No windows anywhere... they didn't like light? A big letter "E" emblazoned on a wall. Looked newer than the rest, was probably graffiti of some kind. Not related to the problem at hand. Chairs... where were the chairs? There were tables, there was what seemed to be a bar... where were the chairs? Unless... the plants. The plants could be used as chairs. That narrowed down the species a little more... now for transmission. "Who would steal a cyberman head?" Alfie was quite upset. He liked Handles. The Doctor was solemnly flipping switches on the TARDIS console. "Hard to say. Possibly someone looking to sell it somewhere. But they haven't cut off his transmission circuits, I'm getting a coded signal..." A number of symbols appeared on a screen. "What's he saying?" asked Alfie, failing to understand the code. "Details about where he is," the Doctor replied. "An alien coffee shop, or coffee shop equivalent. Been out of use for a while. Let's see, air compressors, no windows, potted plants but no chairs..." The Doctor's face suddenly burst into a wide smile. "Syronian gliders," he exclaimed. "What?" Alfie again failed to understand. "The Eridanian gliders were these giant, gliding snakes native to the planet Syronia. They floated on the thick atmosphere of their planet and sensed the world entirely through sonar. Never needed any light, and they were quite happy to roost in the trees..." The Doctor stuck his head out of the TARDIS, waving at a random passerby. "Hi there! My friend and I have a sudden craving for Syronian Muckus-Ale. Any good vendors hereabouts?" The passerb shook one of its heads. "Sorry sir. The Syronians had a shop four blocks south west of here, but it shut down decades ago." "Ah, that's a shame. Thanks anyway!" The Doctor darted back inside and began to pull levers. "We're coming, Handles," he said cheerfully. The thief was now putting Handles into the glowing device. "Things are getting out of control," he explained, "you saw the hand thing, right? So I'm going to have to blast you open earlier than I had planned. Sorry for the inconvenience." Handles said nothing. The glowing lights seemed to be some sort of particularly aggressive scanner. He would not survive their activation. But just as the thief's hand moved towards a big red button that would presumably turn it on, a grinding sound could be heard throughout the building. 'Vworp. Vworp. Vworp. A tall blue police box appeared out of mid-air with each Vworp, until finally an old man and a teenage boy stepped out. "My salutations, sir," said the Doctor in a friendly manner. "I've just come to take my cyberman head back. Hope you don't mind." The thief grabbed a gun out of a drawer and pointed it at the Doctor. "I do mind. I need it, and you won't be getting it back. You can go now." The Doctor didn't seem to be paying attention--he seemed quite fascinated with the old shop. "I haven't been in a Syronian building for ages," he said, looking about with wide eyes. "Maybe we should take a visit to Syronia after this, what do you think?" "Sounds good to me," replied Alfie. "Excuse me," said the thief, trying futilely to bring attention to the gun he was holding. "And look!" exclaimed the Doctor, walking to one of the walls. "A big letter 'E', just sitting on the wall. No logical explanation for it being here, since the Syronians never invented an alphabet. Did you put it there, young man?" "No," said the thief, bewildered. "Look-- I'm holding a gun, and pointing it at you. Don't you think that's a tad more important than some stupid 'E'?" "Not really," said the Doctor, still not paying attention. "People pointing guns at me isn't really interesting. People are always pointing guns at me. What's really interesting are little curiosities like this. Little things that shouldn't be, but are." He turned to face the thief. "But you're right about one thing. The 'E' isn't what's important right now. Maybe I'll find out what it was some other time. But for now, you have my friend. And he's certainly important." The thief began to look nervous, and started shaking again. A glimmer of understanding came into the Doctor's eyes, as he watched the young man, his books, and his device. "Think fast!", he shouted suddenly, raising his sonic screwdriver. Alfie covered his face, expecting an explosion or something. Hearing a screech, he looked again. The thief's eyes looked like they'd grown three sizes, and a number of pointy red spines jutted out from his scalp. He was growling. "What did you do to him?" Alfie asked, shocked. "I didn't do anything," replied the Doctor. "Just startled him, that's all. Put him on the defensive. That's a Jeckaloid." "A what?" Handles spoke from inside of the machine. "Jeckaloid is defined as a hostile psychic entity which takes possession of a human or humanoid body." "Couldn't have said it better myself," said the Doctor, glancing about. "Didn't you see those books? "A Guide to Madness." "Exorcisms for Dummies." "The Ancient Tome of Expelling Psychic Entities." Every book he read brought him closer to the truth, until he figured out what was happening to him and how to stop it. Eventually he started building a device one of his books talked about, but got stuck." The Jeckaloid began to snarl. "My host possesses a poor intellect. He finished half of his device, but found he could not continue without special knowledge. He needed something to study." "A cyberman head," said the Doctor triumphantly. "The cybermen are well known for their neurological expertise. Usually they use it for editing out emotions, but the same principles could be used to remove a Jeckaloid." "He hoped to learn how to drive me out," hissed the Jeckaloid. "Prevent me from reaching prey. I tried to destroy his device on many occasions. Not long ago I managed to gain control of his hand and a wrench, and tried to dismantle it. But he always thwarted me." "He's strong," said the Doctor. "Not like a parasite llike you. But I'm going to give you a chance. Leave his body, and we can all walk out of here fine." The Jeckaloid laughed. "Why should I? I have a gun now, and you have nothing but a sonic probe." "Correction: I have a sonic probe and a little knowledge. Dangerous combination." The Jeckaloid raised the gun and started to fire. With a theatrical sigh, the Doctor raised the sonic screwdriver high above his head, pointing it at one of the old air compressors. There was a buzzing sound until they kicked back on, filling the room with dense fog. "I know how to fix a Syronian air compressor," said the Doctor. "I also know that Jeckaloids can't take much pressure. Don't have a good grasp on your host yet, so any imbalance in oxygen supply causes problems for you." Alfie started to cough, but not as much as the Jeckaloid. It rocked back and forth, before finally collapsing into the fog. The spines shriveled and shattered, and the young man's eyes returned to normal. He groaned, and sat up. "What did you do?" the thief asked. "Exactly what I said I'd do," replied the Doctor, pulling Handles out of the device. "I came for my cyberman head." The thief got up and looked around. "I feel different. It's gone." He felt his head, where the red spines had recently been. "I'm not quite sure what do now though." "Well, you've obviously got a lot of technical know-how," said Alfie. "Why not patch this place up, open it up again? There aren't any other Syronian coffee shops around here." "I've heard worse ideas," answered the young man. He continued to look around, slightly dazed. "Look, I'm very sorry about..." The Doctor, Alfie and Handles were already in the TARDIS. The Doctor was poking his head out. "Don't mention it. We're heading for Syronia, three months into the future. Want us to spread the word about a hot new coffee shop?" "Um, sure," said the thief, who was now on the path to becoming a coffee shop manager. He watched, still somewhat confused, as the blue box dematerialized in a series of vworps. "That was kind of odd," the future manager said. "I wonder if he always solves people's problems that quickly. Certainly the best doctor I've ever seen." He kicked his device a couple of times, annoyed with how long he'd spent working on something that ultimately was useless. "I guess being a coffee shop manager won't be so bad." He glared at a wall. "I'll have to deal with that stupid 'E', though." Eventually, the Doctor would have to deal with that "E" as well. But that was a problem for the future. For now, he had a shop to advertise and a whole wide universe to explore. There was always another adventure to be had, just ahead of the next curve.
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