Discalmer: If I own Doctor Who---let's just leave it there shall we?

Chapter One

Perton

At this point in time (that's such a funny expression) I feel I would do well to record the single most important encounter of my life; the day I met the doctor.

"Well—look at that landscape, Martha! All sand and ionized pertonite for miles and miles, this planet is covered in fields of it. Could kill hundreds of planets but makes capital building materiel," the doctor spun his long arms, sweeping up the dunes and aired yellow sky in one gesture, "What'd ya think?"

"I think it's hot and d-d-" She broke into a coughing fit. The doctor smiled and patted her back, handing her a handkerchief. Gulping several times, Martha pressed the handkerchief to her nose and choked out, "Dusty."

"Dusty? Right, well, I forgot you don't have the biological equipment to handle Pertonian air," he bounced back into the TARDIS and returned a moment later with a common filter mask.

"What good's that gonna do?" Martha asked through the handkerchief, "This isn't exactly working well," she coughed hard again, "This sand is miniscule. It'll go right to my lungs and kill me."

"Not," he said as he shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "If I do this and this." The sonic screwdriver hummed and cast its blue light over the filter.

Satisfied he handed it to Martha who gave him a skeptical look, "Go on, it'll work I promise," he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels as Martha slipped the filter into place over her mouth and nose.

She took a few tentative breaths and her eyes began to sparkle as the fresh, clean air filled her lungs, "How'd you—?"

"Anyway—" he shot off across the dunes, his long coat snapping behind him, "We have an appointment with Corbin Phlu, an old—uh, well, let's say acquaintance because I would never consider the man a friend—yes, acquaintance would be best. But he is the manager of the mines and fields of this planet and he sent for me because their pertonite converter isn't working properly."

Martha ran to keep up, "So what's 'at mean?"

"It means, " he bent his head and stamped his foot on the ground a few times, "It means—uhm—right here," he aimed the screwdriver and the earth shook, "Well, it means the planet could explode."

Suddenly the ground dropped out from under the. Martha screamed and fell against the doctor clinging on for dear life. The sand fell with them until massive bay doors closed over their heads. It took a moment for Martha to realize they were standing on a moving platform that was lpunging downward at an alarming rate.

"What's happening?" she screamed at the doctor.

"Don't worry," he yelled back, "It's only a hyper lift! We're not free falling, it's very controlled."

"Easy for you to say," she shrieked back.

As they rushed underground through darkness, Martha pressed her face into the Doctor's chest. He stood as calmly and coolly as if they were off to the canteen for tea and sandwiches. With her ear to his shirt, Martha could hear the calm dual pumping of his hearts. They, like him, didn't seem to feel afraid at all, beating out a controlled and regular tattoo. She shivered and his placed an arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She peeked up at him and he grinned.

"Fun isn't it?" he bellowed.

She didn't answer but realized that if she had to be in this situation with anyone she couldn't think of another person she'd rather be with. Lights began to flash by in little bursts of yellow and the Doctor explained, "They're platforms to the different levels of the mine, we're almost to our's."

As he spoke the lift slowed and Martha felt her stomach flip from the sudden drop in speed. The Doctor braced her and as they swung to the side he gestured to the approaching platform, "Welcome to Platform 9 and three quarters, Martha Jones."

"You're kiddin' right?" she asked as they stepped off. The sudden feeling of solid ground beneath her feet sent Martha to the ground but the Doctor pulled her back up as a computerized voice announced.

"Welcome to Platform 9 and three quarters. Please remove all weapons and socks and place them in the collection bins to the right. All personal belongings with be returned upon leaving the facility. Thank you for your attention, have a nice day and watch out for nargles."

Martha's mouth dropped open.

"See?" the doctor had moved away from her and was busy pulling his socks off and rolling them into a neat ball, "I told you."

"Nargles? Platform nine and three quarters? What is this? Harry Potter meets the sands devils?" Martha perched on a low seat and began unlacing her shoes.

"No, but the planet works like a giant reception unit for earth radio and television signals," the doctor wiggled his bony toes before pulling his trainers back on, "You think Harry Potter is big on earth wait until I take you to planet Hogwarts; socks off!"

Martha frowned and pulled the slim brown socks off her feet, "Why can't we wear socks anyway? I mean, are they gonna explode too?"

"No, the Pertontians are rather fond of ankles. They consider they to be the most attractive part of the anatomy," he smiled and hitched his own pant legs up to bare his bony shins, "What you'd think? Pretty foxy eh?"

"Oh, totally," Martha deadpanned, "I donno how I kept myself off you for all these months."

He grinned and offered her the bin into which she dropped her socks. She looked up, "Aren't we supposed to leave any weapons in here?"

"Who has weapons? Do you have weapons?" he questioned as he headed down a brightly lit corridor, "Because I don't remember bringing any weapons with me."

"What about your sonic screwdriver. You use it like a weapon," Martha said in a hushed voice as she followed.

"It's nothing more than a simple tool," he lied, "And that's all they need to know about it. Besides, I don't think you'd want to be done here without something like it."

"Why?" Martha asked.

"Because--," they rounded a corner and the floor dropped away. Martha gasped as they looked down on a vast chamber that yawned open in the earth. Below them, rows and rows of people were laboring under heavy loads in endless lines. They dropped off they loads and went back for more. Any debris that fell was picked up by hoards of little dirty children that ran between and around legs. All of them were coughing and groaning, their eyes dim and hopeless, expressions slack and dead.

"Because I don't think you want to be trapped on a slave planet for the rest of your life." He finished.

TBC