The Tinkering of Sixteen Doctors

Ivy: Welcome back to The Tinkering of Sixteen Doctors, where the TARDIS has developed an alarming little hobby. It keeps disguising itself as things nobody ordered. A hat stand, a kettle, um, possibly a very smug bin. Hector: A smug bin feels right, honestly. So, who’s holding the screwdriver? Ivy: First Doctor arrives, peering over his lapels. “Hmm. No, no, no. Young man, that is not a circuit, it is a disgraceful tangle.” Then Two pops up, all bright eyes, “Oh, I like it! It’s got character.” Hector: Character is usually what people say when something’s on fire. Ivy: Exactly. Three strides in, “Reverse the polarity,” very decisive, and Four immediately says, “Or don’t. It may be enjoying itself.” Ha. Five gently suggests a checklist, Six declares the whole console “catastrophically underdressed,” and Seven just sort of taps one loose screw like he’s already won. Hector: And Eight? Ivy: Eight looks at the chameleon circuit, sighs warmly, and goes, “Well. We’ve all had difficult mornings.” Hector: That’s the fix, then? Emotional support? Ivy: Apparently! Until the War Doctor stomps in with, “It’s broken. Fix it.” And Nine, right behind him, goes, “Fantastic. Eight of you and nobody packed a manual.” Hector: Somewhere nearby, the Master is offering “help.” Ivy: Oh, absolutely. And Davros is looming at the monitor, very offended nobody asked his opinion. Hector: Cozy chaos, loose screws, and one very patient time machine. Ivy: Join us next time, friends. Assuming the TARDIS hasn’t become a toaster.

Ivy: And after “Loose Screws and Friendly Chaos,” there they are, all sixteen round the console, chameleon circuits sputtering, and the Master flickering at the edge of the doorway. Hector: Mm, like he’s waiting for somebody to accidentally turn the TARDIS into a garden shed again. Which, uh, feels targeted. Ivy: Then the hum changes. Ten rushes in, “Reverse the polarity, honestly, your wiring’s got the confidence of a fez.” Eleven goes, “Oi, rude,” and hands over a sonic with a bow-tie pin taped to it. Hector: And Twelve takes one look, very eyebrows, very Scottish thundercloud, and says, “Stop negotiating with it. It’s a circuit.” Fair, but also, mate, they’ve got feelings. Thirteen’s sticky-sweet conductive goo actually seals a crack, Fourteen syncs the memory loops, Fifteen taps a rhythm into the casing... Ivy: ...and the new Sixteenth just listens. “You’ve been trying to be everything for everyone,” they say, all soft, and the circuit settles. Oh, that got me. Even Twelve sort of goes, “Hmph. Useful.” Hector: Meanwhile Davros is lurking by the lower console, and the Master’s smiling like he’s got a sabotage button in his pocket. Ivy: But the sonics pass hand to hand, little repairs clicking into place. Cozy chaos, with just enough villainy round the edges. Hector: That’s our kind of maintenance plan. Ivy: Until next time, keep your circuits kind.