The Doctor whispers into the phone.
“So are we still on for four o’ clock cribbage? Good, good. On to other matters. The Namaste Nerada are here, you remember your cousins don’t you? They’re being held prisoner. I’m sending you coordinates.”
“1, 17, 43, 05, 11. Those are the coordinates of something vital to your mission. Should you choose to accept it. Always wanted to say... ah well, never mind. Right then! Once you get there, dive in and aim for the stone cell. I’’ll send you a picture on Facebook... right... about.... now! There! It’s under the heading, Ain’t No Party Like a Time Lord Party. Got it? Good. See you here.”
The Doctor shuts off the phone, flipping his sweaty hair away from his face, and the Namaste Nerada dust phone dissolves.
“Exhausting work, texting.”
The dust says nothing.
“Ah, okay now. Do you lot do carrot and stick? Or are you strictly nuts and berries?”