Doctor Who Fan Fiction ❯ Dr Who – Martha and Ten The Inbetweens and Backstories ❯ Chapter Nine ( Chapter 9 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

`Berlin!' cried the Doctor, throwing open the doors. `Definitely Berlin.' He took in the woods ahead of him, the damp, scrubby grassland all around and the white-tipped mountains that hemmed in the landscape, and his sharp features hardened further in a frown.

`Sort of. Maybe.' He marched outside, then turned to Martha who was hovering in the police box's doorway. `Berlin, d'you think, Martha?'

After missing Reblais Beta completely and ending up as the main dish on Belepheron (although, he did get them to 2098 to see the Climate Change Reversal Project as promised), Martha had asked the Doctor ever ended up where he intended.

“Course I do” he'd said when she'd asked him, before adding the proviso, “most of the time”.

“Do you know how tricky it is to navigate a path through time and space? All those potentials, probabilities and possibilities, it's not easy you know”, he'd said defensively.

“Why don't you try and explain it to me then”, Martha had asked.

“Transdimesional physics is very complex, I don't think your human mind would be able to grasp it.”

“Try me”, she'd challenged.

So he thought that Einstein's old professor, Hermann Minkowski's address about space-time to the 80th Assembly of German Natural Scientists and Physicians on the 21st of September 1908 would be a good place to start.

In answer to his question about Berlin, Martha gave him a look that said, very eloquently, “Don't think so”. `How many mountains in Berlin?' she asked.

`Not huge amounts,' the Doctor conceded. `One or two. In fact . . . less than one. Probably.' He brightened. `There's a mountain in the town of Berlin in New York State . . .'

`I think I've had enough of New York for a while,' said Martha, remembering Daleks, Hooverville, a mutant pig-slave and a showgirl from their last visit there. `Anyway, we can't be anywhere near a city. Air's too fresh.' There was a playful gleam in her deep brown eyes. `Is this really 1908, or are we in prehistoric times or something?'

`You suggesting we could be seventy million years off course?' The Doctor tried to give her a look of disapproval, but he couldn't help brightening at the thought. `That would be fantastic, wouldn't it! See any dinosaurs about? I'd say it was unlikely with all the glacial activity that's obviously been shaping the scenery round here, but . . .' He beamed. `Look at that valley! That tor! Miss Jones, let's tour the tor.'

He grabbed her by the hand and yanked her off on a walk through the heather, his long brown coat flapping round his ankles, his dark suit brightened by a yellow-and-red checked scarf that reminded Martha of Rupert the Bear.

Her own outfit was dressier; a gauzy green silk dress with a gold leaf pattern and a close-fitting beaded jacket. But then, she had been promised they would be attending a formal function.

`What about this German bloke and his oh-so-important address then?' she asked.

`Old Minkowski! Yeah, if it is September 1908, he'll be off to talk to the Assembly of German Naturalists and Physicians, telling them all that space-time is the fourth dimension. Pivotal moment for world physics.' The Doctor laughed. `Well, he'll just have to bluff his way through without me. We'll stay here dinosaur hunting, just in case. Maybe we could have a prehistoric picnic. Fancy a picnic? I think we should have a picnic . . .'

Martha smiled and thought back to her old, normal life. Life before she'd picked up with a man who travelled through time and space in a magic police box he called a TARDIS, who whistled past stars and planets like she passed stops on the Circle Line. `Yeah, well, my family never had too much time for picnics . . .'

`Well, I really, really like picnics. I like picnic baskets. Especially those ones with the separate little compartments for your knives and forks, that's genius -'

The Doctor's enthusiasm was muted by a high-pitched screech of brakes and a loud crashing noise. A cloud of sooty smoke rose up from behind a close-by hillock.

For a moment, Martha and the Doctor shared a wordless look. Then, as one, they ran full pelt towards the sound.

`Car crash?' Martha panted. `The engine sounded -'

`Throaty, inefficient, and probably downright dangerous . . .' The Doctor gave her a wild grin. `I want a go!'

He put on a spurt of speed and reached the brow of the hillock ahead of her. `Oh, yes!' he cried in delight at what he saw. `Look at that! An Opel double phaeton.'

`And one slightly crumpled driver,' Martha noted, reaching his side. An old red motor car, quite possibly a close relative of Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang, had obviously failed to take a sharp corner and was blocking a narrow lane; its bonnet and fenders were bent and scraped after a close encounter with a dry-stone wall.

A tall man in a tartan sports coat with a high-standing collar was attempting to push the car away from the wall. A tweed cap was perched on his head of fair curls. He was covered in dirt and grease and had cut his hand quite badly. `I say!' he called upon sighting the Doctor and Martha. `Could you offer a chap assistance? Rear wheels locked on the turn. Fiercest sideways skid you ever saw.'

Martha was already making her way down the steep slope to the roadside. The piles of little `black cherries' dotted around the grass suggested these narrow roads were more used to seeing sheep than motorists. `What did you do?' she asked, studying his injured hand.

`Sliced it on the blasted fender,' the man said, looking pale. He had a large, beaky nose and brilliant blue eyes. He grinned at her suddenly. `Excuse the language, my dear. The name's Meredith. Victor Meredith.'

`I'm Martha Jones.' She cast a look at the Doctor, who was lavishing his attention on the car. `And this is -'

`- an Opel Ten-Eighteen,' said the Doctor, `pure elegance from Russelsheim.' He caressed the driving seat, which looked more like a cream leather sofa welded to the chassis, and tapped the walnut steering wheel. `And look! Three-speed epicyclic gearbox with pre-selector control . . .'

`Indeed yes, and all brand new!' Victor grinned, then winced as Martha whipped his white racing scarf from about his neck. `You an autocar enthusiast yourself, old buck?'

`Used to be, used to be. I'm the Doctor.'

Victor's eyes turned back to Martha as she wrapped the scarf around his wounded hand. `And you're his nurse, eh, Miss Jones?'

`Training to be a doctor, actually,' she agreed. “Or I will be in about a century from now”.

`Capital, capital.' Victor smiled. `Lady doctor, eh? Well, I dare say they do things differently where you're from.'

`Some things.' Martha conceded. `Are you all right? You're looking a bit wobbly.'

`Can't stand the sight of my own blood,' Victor confessed.

`But animal blood's all right?' The Doctor had pulled a cover from the back seats to reveal a collection of serious-looking shotguns. `You've got some heavy-duty hunting gear here.'

`That's because I'm here for some heavy-duty hunting,' Victor agreed, flexing his bound hand gingerly. `The Lakes'll be alive with hunters, I should think.'

`The unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable . . .' The Doctor frowned. `Hang on a minute - Lakes? What, you mean the Lake District?'

`Goodbye, Berlin,' sighed Martha. `Hello, Pacamac.'

`Lake District, brilliant! I love it round here, the lakes, the waters, the meres . . . and then there's your tarns, of course, your tiddly little lakes up in the mountains. Tarn . . .' The Doctor wrapped his lips around the word. `Good name for a planet, isn't it - Tarn. Tarrrn. TARRRRRRR-RRRRRRR-NNNN . . .'

Victor looked at him bewildered, then turned back to Martha. `Are you sure you're not his nurse?'

`Miss Jones is an ambassador for the distant land of Freedonia,' the Doctor announced. `I'm escorting her and seeing she wants for nothing.'

`That'll be the day.' Martha muttered.

`Freedonia - is that one of ours?' wondered Victor. `Difficult to keep track.'

`Believe me.' Martha told him, `this is a whole other world for me.'

`Hang about!' boomed the Doctor. `Lakes alive with hunters?' He reached into the back of the car and hefted a fearsome-looking weapon. `What's going on? You've got an elephant gun here! Elephants in the Lake District?'

`Bigger game than that.' Victor looked at them both, the colour returning to his cheeks. `Have you been out of the country just recently?'

Martha grinned at the Doctor. `Well out of it.'

`That could explain it then.' said Victor, reaching under the bundle of guns and pulling out a folded newspaper. `Though I'd have thought the whole world had heard of the Beast of Westmorland . . .'

Martha took the paper and checked the date. `September 16th nineteen-oh-nine,' she read aloud, with a pointed look at the Doctor.

`Only a year and a few thousand miles out.' he protested. `Anyway, the car's from Russelsheim and that's in Germany . . .'

But then Martha's frown deepened as she saw the headline. `Beast of Westmorland Found Dead.' she read. `Battered Prehistoric Killer Washed Up on Lakefront. Experts Baffled.'

`So you can read as well as nurse!' said Victor, apparently genuinely impressed.

Martha shot him a look. `And if I couldn't, there's always this artist's impression.' She frowned at the smear of blotchy ink. `Looks like . . . a dinosaur or something.'

`Let me see.' The Doctor snatched the paper from her hands.

`So why all the artillery?' asked Martha. `Taking this lot along to hunt a dead monster seems a bit like overkill.'

`Friend of mine is the expert naturalist brought in to study the brute - Lord Haleston. He says there's serious injury to its head.' Victor tapped the side of his large nose. `Thinks perhaps it had a tussle with a mate.'

`Mate?' Martha looked round nervously at the quiet, beautiful scenery. `Then there's another thing like that roaming about?'

`There have been one or two sightings,' Victor confirmed. `Could be just rumours, of course, or hysteria. The police have searched, and the army, too - after the massacre at that village last week they pulled out all the stops. No luck finding anything, but then it's such a wide area to cover . . .'

`Oh, no. No, no, no.' The Doctor had been studying the paper, stony-faced and he'd identified the beast. It was a Skarasen, a massive creature used by Zygons as a source of lactic fluid, a vital food source.

Skarasen were large enough to crush a human with one clawed foot. They were cybernetically altered to suit the Zygons' purposes and were vulnerable to no force short of a nuclear weapon.

The Doctor slung the paper in the back of the car. `Victor, can you give us a lift?'

`The crash has done for the engine, I'm afraid.' Victor sighed. `Dashed if I can get her to work.'

The Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver, lifted the mangled bonnet and stuck it inside. Then he turned the crank handle and the engine roared into life at once.

Victor stared in baffled delight. `How'd you do that, then?'

`I want to see this dead monster,' said the Doctor, as if this was explanation enough. `The paper doesn't say where it is.'

`Naturally. Don't want a circus . . .'

`Do you know?'

`As it happens, yes,' Victor admitted. `The Beast's pegged out beside the lake at Templewell. We can detour on the way to Goldspur, though I'm not sure I can guarantee you access, old buck. Bit of a closed shop up there, and old Haleston -'

`What's Goldspur?' Martha queried, raising her voice over the engine's sputter.

`Lord Haleston's estate, base of operations for the hunting party,' Victor explained. `But, wait just a moment! A lady travelling without a trunk? Never thought I'd see the day. Where's your luggage? How'd you pitch up here, in any case?'

`We had a bit of an accident ourselves,' said the Doctor.

`Several,' Martha put in. `We lost everything and we've been walking all day.'

`Then a lift you shall have,' Victor declared. `One good turn deserves another, what?' He headed for the driver's seat, but the Doctor was already sat there with an innocent smile.

`I wouldn't dream of making you drive with a bad hand,' the Doctor informed him. `You ready, then? Come on, stop dawdling!'

Martha allowed Victor to help her climb up beside the Doctor. `I take it we're joining this monster hunt?' she asked.

The Doctor's fingers drummed on the wheel as Victor clambered into the back. `I have to be certain what that creature is,' he said ominously.

`I'd like to be certain you can drive this thing,' she said. `How did the sonic screwdriver get it started in two seconds flat?'

The gleam returned to his eyes as he replied. `My sonic dealer was giving away a Vintage Earth Engines software bundle free with every Sanctuary Base upgrade.'

As ever, Martha wasn't quite sure if he was talking rubbish or not. And, as ever, that was all part of the fun.

The Doctor pulled on a lever beside him and stepped on the accelerator pedal, and with a lurch the Opel roared away down the muddy track. No one noticed the hunched, orange creature hidden in the gorse on the hillside, breathing hoarsely, watching them go with dark, glittering eyes.