A few days later…
The wagon made its way through the narrow streets of the Wheatstone district and pulled up in front of the residence of the newly returned Emerson Lighthouse. Two men got out. The older gentleman approached the front door while his associate opened the rear gate and hefted a large wooden crate onto a hand truck. The first man knocked loudly once… twice… a third time before the door opened.
“Hello, can I help you?”
“Are you Sir Sir Emerson?” asked the elderly gentleman.
“Yes I am. What can I help you with?”
“My name is Thaddeus Barnes. This gentleman is Horatio Noble,” Mr. Barnes said, gesturing to his hulking companion. “We are from Cooper Sterling Mercantiles and have come to deliver this package.”
“Ahhh!” Emerson exclaimed. “It must be that very important award I have been waiting for. You see, I have just returned from single handedly vanquishing the seven armies of….”
“Sir,” interrupted Mr. Barnes, before Emerson could launch into a quite lengthy, probably a bit exaggerated account of his latest travels, “if you don’t mind telling us where to place this, we have a very busy delivery schedule to keep. And quite frankly, this place gives me the willies.”
“Of course, you are most right. Come right in.”
Mr. Barnes followed the man into his home, while Mr. Noble dragged the heavy crate up the stairs. Emerson pointed off towards the corner. “Just put it there if you please. I was not expecting this honor for a few more days. Might I offer you a bite of something? A biscuit perhaps?”
Mr. Barnes answered quite drolly, “Sir, no thank you.”
“How about a hot beverage?”
“Sir, no thank you.”
” A freshly baked pie perhaps? I believe I have one lying around here somewhere.”
“Sir, I must insist we be on our way. Good day to you.”
Without another word, the two delivery men turned and departed, leaving Sir Sir Emerson Lighthouse to ponder what was inside the large crate.
“I wonder what it could possibly be? Perhaps they have built me a statue to honor my heroics.”
He looked at the crate trying to find some sort of clue as to its origin. The box was unmarked except for the word “FRAGILE” stenciled in large red letters.
“Hmmm…. Frajeelee…. must be Italian. Well, lets bust her open.”
Emerson grabbed a prybar off of his kitchen table and proceeded to break down the crate, tossing wooden planks and loose straw everywhere. He was disappointed to find that, instead of a statue depicting him single handedly defeating an army so large that Genghis Khan would have trembled, he found a large grandfather clock. “Not what I was expecting, but still, a magnificent tribute to my awesomeness.”
Inside the ship, Orpheus pounded away at the peculiar looking device he was working on. He had a few more parts to secure from town, and then all he had left was to align the large receiver dish. Once it was completed, he should be able to scan into the cracks from a safe distance and find out what was causing the tear in the fabric of space and time, and more importantly, how to seal it back up.
The ship had stopped shaking. Orpheus waited a moment. The ship had been placed where it needed to be placed. He could hear the boards being loosened outside. Now, he just need to wait until dark. Afterall, it is considered quite rude to step out of someone’s “very important award” without an invitation.
He walked over to the table where the chunk of police box sat. His mind kept wandering to that item. It had been pulled from one of the cracks. Could a timelord be responsible for fracturing space/time?