We all wondered where they are... well, we're about to find out. Welcome back, Smith & Jones (and Kris, of course)!

This episode offered by the amazing CarolinaC

The captain stretched a grey-clad arm towards the viewscreen. He watched the half-hundred tiny lights speed toward their destination – a large, capital ship hanging in the inky, star-spangled expanse. He smiled at the string of explosions, then frowned as a flash of light burst across the bridge.

The captain squinted as he watched the light narrow to circle. After a moment, it winked out entirely, but not before depositing a trio of people on his bridge – two men, both dressed like Charles Dickens, and a red-haired woman dressed in short denim shorts, knee-high boots, and a slightly stained white top. All three lay in a tangled heap at the captain's feet.

The conn officer and the science officer exchanged confused glances.

"What is the meaning of this?" The captain demanded.

The travellers began to untangle themselves. The dark-haired man was the first to get to his feet.

"Terribly sorry, old man!" He began, "We didn't mean to burst in on you like that. Not in the least. Name's Smith. John Wesley Smith, to be precise. And these are my associates, Jones -" the light-haired man waved a hand from his position on the floor, " - and Kris." The red-haired woman, already on her feet, seemed engrossed in admiring her fingernails.

"I see," The captain said. "And what are you doing on my bridge?"

"Ah, well, that is to say - " Smith began as Jones managed to struggle to his feet.

"We're in the wrong place," Kris interrupted.

"Surely not?" Jones asked, tugging his shirt down into place. "I thought the pills would bring us wherever the Writers wanted us to be?"

"Yeah, but I think they're running us through places we've been, first," Kris replied. "I think they want to remind us of our earliest adventures before we save the multiverse, you know, like studying for a test."

The captain looked annoyed. "So your being here is an accident, or a coincidence? I do not believe you! I think it is a plan by the rebels to destabilize the empire by boarding our flagship!"

The captain reached for the small cylinder hanging from his belt; with a loud hiss, it grew to become a sword in his hands. The conn officer and the science officer did likewise.

"Space opera?" Jones asked, looking over at Kris.

Kris nodded as she reached into her right front pocket. "Space opera."

"Security!" the captain called, "Arrest these people!"

Kris opened the little bottle she had pulled from her pocket. She shook two, translucent, blue pills into her palm. She passed one to Jones.

"Calm down, calm down!" Smith said, holding his hands out in a gesture of supplication.

Kris tossed him the bottle. "Take the pill! Now!"

The sword-wielding officers began to advance.

Smith, Jones, and Kris swallowed the pills.

~*~

For a long time, everything was dark. Then the light flashed again, and Smith, Jones, and Kris found themselves in another tangled pile.

They were no longer on the bridge of a starship. Instead, they were in a wood-panelled room, lying on  -

"Is this an Aubusson carpet?" Jones asked, digging his fingers into the floral pattern.

"It certainly is," a mechanical voice drawled. It came from a mechanical man made of sleek, shiny chrome. He had a domed head, and his left eye included an extra lens that made him look like he was wearing a monocle. "May I ask you gentlemen, and the lady, if you have an invitation?"

"An invitation?" Kris asked. "Is this a party? Is there champagne?"

"I don't think we have invitations," Smith admitted.

"Certainly not, old sport," Jones agreed.

"How about cognac?" Kris asked.

"I could provide either beverage, miss, if you present your invitation?" the mechanical man offered.

"Hmm, sleeky moderne mechanical valet, fine beverages, and fine furniture? Coupled with a well-defined social class who like parties by invite only?" Jones said to himself, "I think this must be decopunk."

"How about you get me some champagne first, and then I'll give you my invitation? Or rum. I'd take rum," Kris offered.

Smith sighed. "and I think we must be going. Pills, if you please, Miss Kris?"

"Pills? What? Why?" Kris made a face.

"We aren't meant to be here, either," Jones said, gently. "Give us the pills."

Kris made a face, but complied. She looked, longingly at the wood panelling. She looked longingly at the Aubusson rug. She looked longingly at the mechanical man. She thought about beverages. She grimaced. She took her pill.

~*~

When the circle of light closed this time, our heroes found themselves in a a large room. The room was set up with two rows of five desks. On each desk was a typewriter, two of which were in use at the moment. Skyscrapers stretched outside the window, on which the words "DAILY NEWS" were painted in huge, reversed letters.

"This place looks terribly familiar . . ." Jones began.

Just then, the typist closest to the window gasped.

"Look!" She exclaimed "Up in the air! It's – it's not a bird. Or a plane. It's -"

Kris and Smith exchanged looks. "Superhero!" they simultaneously trumpeted.

~*~

The trio passed quickly though Dystopian and Post-apocalyptic. Both places were unpleasantly familiar, and neither seemed like a good place to linger. Besides, post-apocalyptic smelled funny.

~*~

When the light flashed again, the three travellers landed, hard, on a cobblestone surface. The air smelled of coal and raindrops. A handsome cab passed on the next street, but before the three could make it to their feet, a large, black shadow passed over them.

Smith, looking up, gasped. "Jones! Look!"

The shadow was cast by a huge, leviathan of an airship, a great beast  with pennants flying. Kris shaded her eyes with her hands as it passed overhead and they found themselves back in the sun.

Smith and Jones, on the other hand, were looking at each other with expressions of pure glee.

"We're home!" Smith exclaimed.

"Back in good old steampunk!" Jones agreed.

Kris made a face. "You can't stay here."

"But I ought to go check in on my old Aunt May," Smith said.

"And I would really like to know what became of my diamond cufflinks," Jones added. "I had them when you first appeared here, and I'd like to know where -"

"No!" Kris retorted. "We are not staying here! I hated this place the first time I came here, and I hate it now! And besides, this is clearly not where we're supposed to be."

"How do you know?" Jones asked, running a hand through his fair hair.

"Because it isn't new. It's obvious that the Writers want to send us someplace new, after we . . . review things."

"I don't think that's obvious at all," Smith said, "And my Aunt May makes an excellent Battenberg cake. It's absolutely capital!"

"You wouldn't let me have any champagne back in decopunk, so you don't deserve any cake," Kris retorted.

The two glared at each other.

Jones sighed. "How about this – the next time the Writers send us here, we go visit your aunt and generally have a nice holiday, but this time we give Miss Kris what she wants."

"Only if Kris swears solemnly that she will join us on said holiday," Smith said.

Now it was Kris' turn to sigh. "Fine. Fine – I promise. I like cake too, okay? Can we go now?"

Each of the three swallowed one of the blue, translucent pills.

~*~

This time, when the circle of light dumped the three of them onto the floor, things were different. They landed on a short-piled red carpet, in a broad hallway that smelled of popcorn, but the real difference was their clothing. Smith realized that he was dressed in a tailcoat and sported a monocle. Jones found that his beloved muttonchop whiskers had reappeared, and, to his delight, he was wearing his diamond cufflinks. Kris had the most dramatic change of all; her shorts and dirty top had been replaced by a slinky, black sheath dress. As she stood, she became aware that she was still wearing her beloved knee-high boots. She grinned.

"I say, we look quite spiffy, eh, Jones? Kris?"  Smith asked.

"A girl could get used to this," Kris agreed.

Jones, meanwhile, had wandered off down the corridor a bit. "Friends?" he called. "I think you ought to see this – I think it's new."

Smith and Kris exchanged glances, then hurried down the hallway. There, on the carpet in front of Jones, stood an A-frame sign. The sign contained a simple, cardboard insert. In gold letters on a red background it read "Best of '21!"

"I think it's an end-of-year awards show," Kris said thoughtfully. "You know, where people get praised for stuff they did earlier in the year."

"It sounds like jolly good fun," Smith said.

"And it definitely sounds new." Jones said, thoughtfully. "Which I guess means the Writers want us there."

Kris nodded. "Let's go then, boys."

The three of them proceeded down the hallway.