Doctor Who Fan Fiction ❯ Dr Who – Martha and Ten The Inbetweens and Backstories ❯ Chapter Twenty Four ( Chapter 24 )

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

`So, it's a warning, then?' Martha ventured.

With a flourish of his right hand, the Doctor tipped a switch upwards, snorted, and peered anxiously at the scanner mounted on the console… Glasses now on, he rapped the screen with his knuckles.

`Sounds like a warning to me,' she said.

`Nah!' the Doctor retorted. `Nothing like a warning!'

An incoherent babble of distorted voices crackled from an ancient speaker grille near the scanner. The Doctor tugged an ink pen from his inside suit pocket, and began scribbling furiously on a note pad.

`Well, it's not a mayday, and it's not junk mail. Come on, come on, what are you?' The symbols he scribbled were strange, spidery, and archaic, like alien shorthand.

`Ah!' he exclaimed, straightening up and beaming his best toothy grin, `Got you!' He hopped backwards onto the jump seat at the edge of the console, swinging his long legs back and forth underneath him. `That's brilliance, that is, Martha Jones. An unknown alien language deciphered in less than, what, ten seconds.'

He waved the pad under Martha's nose. `Oh yes!' He grinned, and then realised that Martha was staring at him, unimpressed. `What?' And then his voice notched up a touch. `What?'

Martha looked at him. `It's a warning, isn't it?'

`Yes,' he said, a touch shamefaced.

Martha laughed, and poked him in the ribs, `What did I tell you? Not just a pretty face, eh?'

The Doctor leaped from the seat, buzzing with pent-up energy. `I never pay attention to warnings, Martha. Paying attention's for cats! I'm more your golden retriever type, just blunder straight in there all happy and excited! Never got me in to trouble yet… not once in 903 years . . . well, not quite “not once” . . . well - sort of all the time really, but you get my point!'

And with that, those long legs powered him round the console, and he was sliding levers, flicking switches.

`Don't you just love this bit?' he enthused. `Goose pimples, look!' He rolled up the sleeve of his jacket proudly. `The tingle that goes with the thrill of discovery. We could be anywhere and any when. Isn't that brilliant?'

`Warnings are meant for a reason,' she said levelly.

`That's what I like about you, Martha Jones!' With a very gentle sideward lurch the TARDIS stopped moving.

The Doctor vaulted the safety rail onto the lower section of the console room floor, and snatched up his fallen brown overcoat. As he tugged the sleeves over his arms, he dashed to the doors.

`Coming?' he said, his hand on the door latch.

`Try and stop me,' and Martha ran down the ramp to join him.

`Are you sure this isn't the Antarctic?' Martha nudged the Doctor gently in the side as she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm.

The two of them were standing outside the TARDIS staring at an expanse of ice and snow, as far as the eye could see, rippled and folded into incredible gravity defying swirls that spread towards the distant curved horizon.

`Not the Antarctic, Martha,' the Doctor stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets, and craned his head to peer round the side of the TARDIS.

`Ah!' he said, nodding with dawning realisation. `Try that way.'

`What?' Martha said, hugging herself against the biting wind.

`Agelaos,' he declared.

Martha carefully poked her head around the edge of the TARDIS. Ahead, in the middle of the ice floe, was a city.

Huge bony spires rose thousands of feet into the crisp indigo sky, domes and skyscrapers, bridges and sheer walls of glass, all covered with a dense layer of snow. It looked forgotten, empty, as though it had been swept into a corner and gathered dust.

But most astonishing of all was the sky. Martha was utterly blown away by the beauty of this frozen planet. Above her, shimmering and arcing majestically were aurora borealis; and beyond them shooting stars, flaring, bursting, dissipating; and distant ion cascades, a palette of unimaginably delicate colours suspended in the clear cerulean sky.

And on the distant horizon, hanging just a fraction above the city skyline, burning like a magnesium-white flare was… a sun? No, it was too low, thought Martha, too close to the planet… And, as she peered closer, the white empty space was pulsing, as though breathing. Could black holes be white, she mused? Surely it would destroy everything nearby. So, not a black hole then, but what?

`A wormhole.' The Doctor seemed to guess what she was thinking. `It's beautiful, isn't it? Your descendants came here to try to harness the energy of that wormhole. A gateway into the Vortex. That's how we got here.'

`But that's mad. Surely it would have, you know…' She struggled to articulate her thoughts.

`Destroyed them? Nah!' The Doctor locked the TARDIS door. `Fancy a walk?'

`Aggy-what?' she queried, trotting to keep pace with the Doctor's enormous strides.

`Agi-lay-os,' the Doctor pronounced. `One of the furthest outposts of the Second Great and Bountiful Human Empire. The planet was colonised by a group of 2,000 pioneers from Earth. They terraformed it, or started to.' He scratched his head, ruffling his brown, spiky hair.

`Something happened here?' Martha posed.

`Mm.' He frowned, but forged on regardless.

`What did the warning say?' she persisted. `Doctor?'

He stopped, swivelled to face her. `Give or take the odd vowel: “Stay away”.'

`From what?'

He started walking again. `That's the million credit question.'

To Martha it looked like the city had been deserted for years. At her side the Doctor was chattering on. `For many centuries they lived on the lip of the wormhole using its energy to power their society. The side effect, though now, get this, Martha, it's brilliant - the side effect of living so close was that the population began to develop a certain degree of psychic ability.'

Martha raised an eyebrow. `What? Tea leaves and palm-reading type of psychic?'

`They developed the ability to see strands of future time . . . that's all being psychic is.' He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, and Martha virtually cannoned into him.

`What?'

`Shush!' he held his hand up for silence.

`What?' Martha hissed.

The Doctor bought his lips very close to Martha's ear, and whispered, `When I say run… run.'

Martha felt her skin crawl, and her head suddenly flicked around, her eyes searching the darkened buildings looming over her. She could see nothing, absolutely nothing.

`Run!' yelled the Doctor, grabbing her hand tightly, and yanking her suddenly to the left. Her feet skidding on the snow, she stumbled after him into the shattered shell of a nearby building. And that's when she heard the weeping . . .

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Martha helped Waechter up the ramp to the central console, guiding him to the two pilot's seats. The old man's head swung wildly around, taking in every detail of the cavernous expanse - the coral-like columns that seemed to grow out of the floor, and push up high into the domed ceiling; the rusted railings wrapped in padding, secured with duct tape.

`This is . . . is . . . unbelievable,' he stuttered.

`You'll get used to it,' Martha said, as she sat him down.

The Doctor stalked up to the console, throwing off his overcoat. `Last chance to say no,' he said.

Waechter took a deep breath, and grasped Martha's hand. `What are you saying damn fool things like that for?' he said. `You sound like you want me to change my mind.'

The Doctor laughed, and flipped a switch upwards with an expansive gesture. Within seconds, the grinding and wheezing sound of the TARDIS engines filled the console room, and Waechter stared in wonder at the rising and falling of the central column.

`This machine is incredible—' he began, and then broke off as he clutched at the circuit in his neck and let out a wail of terrible pain. He crumpled to the floor, crackles of green electricity dancing and sparking around his neck and face.

`He can't die here,' Martha shouted. `It shouldn't happen here and now, like this!'

`We've got to go back,' the Doctor raced to the console, slamming levers down frantically. The TARDIS juddered and shook, and within seconds the central column stopped moving as the craft landed once more.

`I thought you'd disconnected him?' asked Martha.

The Doctor raced over to Waechter, plucking out the sonic screwdriver. He waved it across the chip in the old man's neck, and then examined the readings.

`Oh, I'm so stupid!' He smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand. `It's a two-way mechanism. If the Beacon fails to hold him here, then the chip kicks in as a back-up. That's so elementary. Why didn't I think of that?'

Martha drew the Doctor to one side. `Can't you just turn it off?'

The Doctor frowned, his face a mask of concentration. `It's not that simple. That thing is hard-wired into his biology. I might kill him. No, I've got to be clever about this.'

Spinning on his heels, the Doctor tore over to the console, and his hands began flashing across the dials and levers, occasionally scanning something with his sonic screwdriver.

Martha sat down next to Waechter, holding one of his fragile, bony hands in hers. `Trust him,' she said.

Waechter looked at her. `I'm stuck here, aren't I?'

Martha shook her head. `He'll find a way.'

The Doctor suddenly leapt away from the console and ran to Waechter's side, waving the sonic screwdriver. `You're in the company of a genius, did you know that?' He beamed. `I can jam your circuit's link to the Beacon, and once it's jammed I can deactivate it.'

Waechter looked at Martha, seemingly for reassurance, and then back at the Doctor. `And then you can take me home?'

`Oh, yes!' The Doctor leaned in close to Waechter's neck. `This might sting a touch,' he warned.

Martha knew immediately that `sting a touch' meant it would hurt like crazy, so she gripped the old man's hand tightly. The buzzing blue tip of the sonic screwdriver hovered over the centre of the chip, and the surface electronics began to shimmer and vibrate.

Waechter screwed his eyes up as he began to feel waves of heat pulsate out from his neck. Suddenly a shower of sparks erupted from his neck, but the Doctor kept on working, his tongue poking between his lips.

As Martha held Waechter's hand she began to feel it swelling in her grip, and she looked down. As she unfurled her fingers she realised in horror that she was holding not an old man's hand, but something that resembled a claw bristling with tough, spiny hairs. She dropped it and backed away.

`Doctor,' she whispered.

The Doctor looked over, following the direction of her gaze. `Oh,' he said. `Now that's not fair!'

Waechter, his face still contorted with pain, looked at his hand. `What's happening to me?'

His face grim, the Doctor's shoulders sagged with realisation. `Of course! It's a new brain I need, Martha. This one's getting tired! I know what's happening!' Martha looked up at him, confused.

`Don't you see?' He was bursting with energy. `Oh, lazy, lazy brain, Doctor! I know what this is all about.'

Martha, frustrated, snapped, `What?'

`It's the curse of this planet.' The Doctor straightened up. `You were wrong, Waechter. The inhabitants haven't gone anywhere, they've not been murdered. They're still here. They've evolved into these alien creatures.'

Martha looked on in horror as Waechter's arm began to twist and elongate, transforming into something horribly similar to a spider's leg.

The Doctor, fascinated, popped his glasses on. `It's got to be the influence of the wormhole. Not only has it given the inhabitants incredible psychic powers, it's also irradiated their bodies with who knows how many thousands of types of alien DNA that have passed through the Vortex.'

Waechter cried out in agony, his right arm cracking and splintering as it doubled in length. `Please, help me!'

`It's the chip,' the Doctor said. `His humanity was being held in check by the chip. That was what was stopping him from turning into one of those things. There's got to be something I can do!' He turned on the sonic screwdriver again, and the circuit rippled and spat sparks. `I can do this!'

Waechter screamed once more, his face contorting in agony. His jaw suddenly began to mutate, distorting into

two separate mandibles. `I am not one of those things!' Waechter spat.

`You're making it worse!' Martha shouted.

The Doctor turned off the screwdriver. `No! No! No!!

Why can't I do this?'

The old man's tongue poked between his lips, now blackened and swollen. It flickered in and out, like a snake

scenting the air. The Doctor took a deep breath, and ran the palms of his hands over his strained face.

`Doctor?' Martha said urgently.

`OK!' he snapped, and knelt down in front of Waechter. `Listen to me. If I destroy that chip, you will turn into one of these creatures. But if I repair it to keep you human, then I can't take you away from here. I'm sorry. One way or the other, you're going to have to stay. There's nothing else I can do. I really am so sorry. You have to tell me what you want me to do. Waechter?'

The old man brandished his claw-like protuberance, staring in utter horror at it. `Is this all that my life has been about?' he cried. `Just waiting for this?'

The Doctor continued urgently. `Please! What do you want me to do?'

And as Waechter struggled to make his decision, and the Doctor and Martha waited with bated breath, the sound of weeping could be heard . . . from outside on the snow-blasted wastes. The creatures - his people - were waiting, too.

Waechter reached out a twisted claw and rested it gently on the Doctor's shoulder. `Your identification paper . . .'

`The psychic paper?'

`Yes. May I see it again? Please?'

The Doctor reached into his jacket, and pulled out the wallet. He slowly opened it, showing it to Waechter. The old man stared deep into its intuitive heart and his reaction this time was sedate, almost serene.

`Thank you,' he said softly.

The Doctor closed the wallet and tucked it away. `What did you see?'

Waechter leant back in the chair, and closed his eyes. `An end. And a beginning. Running free. Never lonely again.' He opened his eyes, and smiled. `I owe you my thanks.'

The Doctor waved his hand in front of his face. `Nonsense.'

`It's our custom here, Doctor. I owe you a gift. And the only gift I have of value is my knowledge of the future.'

The Doctor stood up, frowning, and backed away slightly. `I'm not sure it's wise to know what's coming. More fun that way.'

Ignoring him, Waechter turned to Martha. `Look to your family. Protect them. They will need you to be strong, so very strong, Martha Jones.'

Martha's face clouded with confusion. `What do you mean?'

Waechter looked up at the Doctor. `And for you, Time

Lord, there are endings coming. There will be loss and death—'

`Please,' the Doctor broke in. `Don't.'

Waechter looked down at his hooked, clawed hands. His breathing shallow and rasping. When he looked up again, his eyes were shot green, pulsing with inner light.

`Please destroy this thing in my neck,' he said, his voice barely a whisper. `Let me go. I want to be with my people.'

The Doctor leant forward, activating the sonic screwdriver, disabling the circuit. An incandescent shower of sparks erupted from the old man's neck, and his back suddenly arched, his face contorted in a rictus of pain. New bolts of agonising pain wracked his body. He gasped for air.

He fell to his knees and then forward on his hands. As his bone and muscle bent and reformed themselves, his face began to distort, bulging, puckering and swelling into some new creature. Martha turned away, and the Doctor watched her cross to the console.

`Martha?' he asked.

`I don't want to see,' she told him.

Behind her, the Doctor gently helped the creature to its feet. It swung its head round to look at the Doctor, its bulbous, arachnid eyes peering quizzically at him. And then, the creature bowed its head, respectfully.

`I'll help you outside,' the Doctor murmured. He pushed the doors open, and freezing air billowed into the console room.

Martha stood utterly still at the console, listening to the click-clack of Waechter's new feet on the metal TARDIS floor, her face streaked with tears.

Martha could hear that Waechter had paused by the door, but still she couldn't bring herself to turn around. Was he waiting for some sign, some gesture from her? Feeling guilty and selfish, she sighed, and turned slowly to face him, dreading what she might see. But he had already gone, stepped out into the snow. The Doctor solemnly closed the door, and sauntered back up towards Martha. He put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close for a moment.

`I love a happy ending,' he said.

Martha looked up at him. `What now?' she said.

`Oh, you know. A bit more jiggery pokery,' he beamed.

`You know, Martha Jones, I think that Beacon should start transmitting a very different message.'

`Like what?'

`Something more appropriate. What do you say, eh?

How about . . . a protected planet of special scientific interest,' he ventured.

As the Doctor began to set the coordinates on the console for the Beacon, and the central column began to rise and fall, Martha asked, `He will be all right, won't he?'

The Doctor stared at the console's pulsing lights, and for a moment he looked surprisingly optimistic. `Maybe, maybe not,' he said. `But, there's one thing he will be, Martha.'

`Oh yeah? What's that?' she asked.

The Doctor twisted a button on the console. `Brilliant!'