Kaesa

"Could you help me here? Please?" Taylor demanded, barely dodging a punch using the ancient and little-known Earth technique of "try to back up and then nearly trip over the unconscious bloke on the ground."

"I don't know how to fight!" said Neeloc.

"Oh, and you think I do?" Taylor asked. The Silurian guard grabbed him by his throat.

Neeloc used his mop to whack at the guard's head to very little avail; Taylor was very busy trying not to suffocate so he couldn't see what Neeloc did after that but presumably it wasn't very effective. Then the guard gave a shout and released him, and Taylor could breathe again.

"Oh my god, finally," said Taylor, gasping for breath. "What did you..." Neeloc was standing there looking baffled as Taylor felt, and the guard -- oh, of course. The guard was lying on the ground cursing and trying to shake off the little Silurian girl, whose sharp teeth were still closed on his other wrist.

Neeloc frowned, and seized Taylor's shovel from his loose grip. With the air of a conquering knight he pointed it, blade end first, at the Silurian guard. "I've got this handled," he told the little girl, with his own childish sort of solemnity, and she spat the guard's hand out with disgust, got to her feet, and dusted herself off.

Then Neeloc addressed the guard. "You. We can do this the easy way or the way that involves hitting you with this shovel. I would suggest the easy way, although, to be fair it's actually just the easy way for me, since I haven't tested this antidote it could actually have some really nasty side effects. Although, if it works all right it's the easy way for you too, since you don't have to do anything! You don't have to do anything if I hit you with the shovel either, though. ...So I suppose the question is more, would you prefer to do this the way that involves dubious scientific ethics and possibly skin lesions or another head or something but not actual violence, or the way that involves a nasty concussion?"

The guard raised his head to frown at Neeloc, and then at Taylor.

"Yeah, I don't know what he's on about half the time either," said Taylor, apologetically. "Neeloc, give me the shovel."

"No! You had your turn with the shovel! I have it now!" said Neeloc.

"I saw it first!" said Taylor.

The guard lowered his head with a disgusted grunt.

Kalheth frowned. "It's, er. Really, you came here and you don't know what it's called?"

"We were trying to get to London," said Neeloc, apologetically.

"He was trying to get to London," said Taylor, not looking up from adjusting the map. "I've very little interest in the place."

"Well," said Kalheth, "well, er. This planet's called 'Earth' --"

"We know," said Neeloc.

"Wait, really, that's their name for it too?" Taylor asked. "Oh, oh, right, the translation circuit. But wait, what are the actual sounds that --"

"Don't think too hard about it or it might not work," advised Neeloc.

"How very Gallifreyan," said Taylor under his breath, not quietly enough for Neeloc to miss.

"And the town," said Kalheth, loudly, ignoring them completely, "is called Pesksorlkathandr."

"Peskorcath...something," Taylor said. "Peskorlak-- Peksor -- so your town is here," he said, giving up. "We're here," he said, "I think, unless North is the wrong way -- no, no, we're here. Good. Okay. Anyway, see that little red blip? That's us."

Neeloc turned to watch Taylor. The map he had was spattered with little colored blips; theirs was only the brightest. Neeloc had a sinking feeling about what the others represented. He realized suddenly that he had no idea how to solve this. Stories about the Doctor had made it sound easy -- show up, run down some corridors, be clever, then leave before anyone could make you stick around and be President or whatever.

Sometimes people accidentally sell unhatched eggs to Crim. And if Crim's not doing anything with them, why shouldn't Tripp try and do something useful with them?

Well, for one thing, there's the crippling guilt. And for another thing, unhatched dragon eggs tend to hatch.

Alphys has a half-finished tile maze puzzle, reams of useless data, and a bunch of piranhas that can't tell the difference between lemon and orange scent.

Sans has donuts.

The sand shall make a door for me and I shall pass through it. The stones shall make a ship for me and I shall travel upon it.