"Martha Martha Jones." These were the words being spoken by a skinny man wearing a long, blue suit, converse sneakers, and (he would call it) a stylish hairstyle. "I promised you one trip in space and time to anywhere you can imagine. Or," he scrunched his striking face in an exaggerated and slightly comical way "For that matter, anywhere you can't imagine. Did you know," his face was now lighting up with the glee of someone who had just remembered an amazing story to tell, "That there is a planet made entirely of cottage cheese? Well, when I say cottage cheese, what I mean is the embryos of migratory subspace plankton. Well, not that they are strictly subspace. Or even plankton, at least most days -"
"Do you ever stop talking for more than a few seconds?" Martha asked, looking wide eyed at the Doctor. She wasn't over the initial shock of being whisked away by a Time Lord in a police box that was, actually, not a police box, but, as far as she knew, a spaceship time machine that was inexplicably larger on the inside than the outside. She wondered if all the Doctors were like him in the future.
"Talking is my thing," the Doctor replied simply. "Gotten me out of quite a few jams, talking. Well, that and my knowledge of Victorian literature." The Doctor began to reminisce. "That Christina Rosetti, now there's someone who could make a good pie -"
"Literature," Martha muttered, absent mindedly playing with the end of her hair. "It must be amazing to be able to meet up with so many great minds whenever you feel like it." She sat down on what she thought was a chair. There were so many instruments on the TARDIS, it was hard to tell a vital working part of the ship from a common seating arrangement. The Doctor didn't seem to mind, so she assumed it was okay. She looked down, noticing that she was still in her medical attire. Luckily, under the white coat, she had a long sleeved black blouse accompanying a pair of dark brown slacks. It wouldn't have been her first choice for time traveling attire, but, then again, she didn't really know what her first choice would have been.
"Oh, Martha. It is. It really is. A fan of the written word, are we?" The Doctor asked, beaming. Martha had to stifle an instinct to blush. That smile… "Yes," she said, meekly.
"Well, Martha Jones, I have a wonderful idea that I'm at least 45% sure you're going to absolutely love -"
A sudden jerk would have jolted the Doctor across the room if it wasn't for the firm grip he had on one of the TARDIS instruments. Martha, however, had no such luck as she was flung against what she could only assume to be a wall. She wasn't hurt, but it was quite the shocking experience. On this day, Martha learned that on the TARDIS, it's easy to forget that you are in fact in a ship, hurtling through space and/or time.
"What?" The Doctor asked, to nobody in general. He seemed rather perplexed.
"Doctor!" Martha called from the wall she was flung into. "What's happening?!"
"I... I didn't." The Doctor blinked, shook his head quickly, and squared his shoulders. "Right, Martha, this part is important. Don't panic. Can you promise me you'll not panic, Martha Jones?" He eyed her, expectantly.
Martha was flustered. "Well, I-"
"That's the spirit!" he beamed again and began running frantically around the central control panel of the TARDIS. "Right, as far as I can tell, I have lost complete control of the ship and it is being pulled to a specific point in time and space." As he said this he was flicking switches, turning knobs, and doing what could only be described as "slapping" certain panels.
Now it was Martha's turn to say it. "What?"
The Doctor, not missing a beat, said "Martha, we really must work on your listening skills-"
Martha cut the Doctor off. "No. I mean, I heard you, but... are you accustomed to this sort of thing?"
"Of course not!" the Doctor said, unconvincingly. "It almost usually never happens. I mean, sometimes. Okay, maybe a few more times than sometimes, but not many-"
The ship jolted again. This time, Martha was braced, but the Doctor slipped and fell.
"The important thing, Martha Jones," he said, springing up, making an unnaturally quick recovery, "is that we are going there for a reason. It could be anywhere, for any reason!" The TARDIS seemed to have arrived at its destination, as all was completely still.
"Right," said the Doctor as he brushed himself off, acting as if he had this planned all along. He passively checked an instrument on the TARDIS control console. "March, 11th 1918. And we seem to be... Wait, that isn't right. Why?"
"Why what?"
"Ever prepared with the appropriate line of questioning, Ms. Jones." He looked at the instrument again, confirming the location. "We seem to be directly on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of miles away from any sort of land. Well, technically we are on land. Away from any sort of beach, that's more accurate. Is there such a thing as an underwater beach?" He went to open the door, but was stopped as Martha ran in front of him, wedging herself between him and the exit.
"Doctor?" she asked, cautiously.
"Usually, that's what I go by." The Doctor responded.
"Let me see if I have an accurate idea of what is going on right now. We are currently in the year 1918. In fact, it is March 11th. By my calculations, a Monday."
"I'm sure you're right, Ms. Jones," The Doctor said, slightly confused. "I would have you misjudged if you aren't."
"Right," Martha carefully continued, "The only historically important thing I can recall happening near this day is a deadly influenza pandemic."
"Again, I assume you're correct, but-"
"And instead of anywhere near the pandemic, we are actually in the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean."
Protesting, the Doctor said "Well, when you say it like that-"
"And," Martha continued, "As the average depth of the Atlantic Ocean is 3,339 meters, the water pressure down here, give or take, could be 4,739 pounds per square inch."
The Doctor blinked. "Quick with math I see, but I don't understand-"
"And you're about to open the door."
"The Doctor blinked, and then laughed heartily. "HA! Martha, if you think I would intentionally elect to have us crushed like soda cans under an elephant, you have a lot to learn. Stand aside." He looked meaningfully into her brown eyes. "Trust me."
Martha stood aside, but it was mainly so she could hide her blushing face from him. The Doctor opened the door-–
And water did not rush in, crushing them into barely recognizable goop.
What did happen was an unnaturally bright, white light filled the inside of the TARDIS. The Doctor walked out the door.
Without the additional thoughts she should have had, Martha followed him.
As she slowly walked through the door of the TARDIS, she instinctively shielded her eyes from the garish white light enveloping her. Attempting her first breath outside the TARDIS, she was overcome with a sudden coughing fit. It was as if, momentarily, she was drowning and her lungs were trying to reject the very air she breathed. Thankfully, the fit lasted only a few seconds, and while the air maintained an ominous thickness about it, it proceeded to be entirely breathable.
After a cursory glance around her, it seemed they were on a large, almost endless white beach (desert?) that stretched to the visible horizon. Martha eyed the Doctor, who was spinning around comically with his sonic screwdriver in his hand, waving the buzzing instrument hopefully at the air, enticing it to make sense of the situation.
"So, you were sure we were on the bottom of the ocean, yes?" Martha asked, peevishly.
The Doctor feigned shock. "Martha Jones, there are many things that I am, but wrong is something I almost usually am not. Sometimes." The Doctor cleared his throat. "Either way, there is something about this… air." He began to lick at the air as it were a cone of cotton candy that was being held just out of reach, and then smacked his lips with a rather disgruntled look on his face. "It tastes like a hangover from Sontaran ale. Or whatever it is they call it. To be fair, it may have been some sort of cleaning agent, but it definitely packed a punch."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Martha said, having nothing to add to the conversation after a reference to an alien version of "Pine Sol."
"Right, nor do I, Ms. Jones. But it is important to keep up a dialogue, yes? That way, we may talk our way into something that has something to do with anything." The Doctor ceased his antics and faced Martha to continue talking, but something behind her caught his attention. "Like…that," he said, pointing his screwdriver accusingly over Martha's shoulder.
Though the look of confusion on the Doctor's face worried her (he seemed like someone that was accustomed to odd happenings), she slowly looked over her shoulder…
And beheld as what could only be described as a colossal oceanic wall. It was as if someone had taken the entire ocean and emptied it into an aquarium - only there was no glass. Schools of fish, sharks, and even whales were swimming around the cerulean waters just yards from where they stood. The "wall" stretched higher than most mountains she had ever seen, and was wide enough to continue both ways to the visible horizon, just like the opposing beach.
"That's not right," the Doctor said matter-of-factly, as he checked his screwdriver.
"I'd concur," Martha said mildly, "but I've not seen too many walls of ocean in my life."
"No, not that," the Doctor said dismissively, as if a limitless wall of water were a common occurrence. "You're very clever, Ms. Jones, about how far does light travel into the ocean?"
"Roughly 1,000 meters," Martha answered, almost instinctively.
"Right, and you may notice that this giant Atlantic wall is much higher than 1,000 meters, yet it is brightly lit. By… something."
Martha looked around, confirming that the Doctor was correct - organisms that usually survived on the ocean floor in complete darkness were brightly illuminated on the other side of the cerulean barrier. From her observations, it seemed that the only place the light could be coming from… "Doctor, the air. It is really thick, yeah? And… bright." She moved her arm through the air above her head – Indeed, it seemed to offer resistance to her motion. Less than water, but definitely more than air.
"Whhhhrrrrreeeeee" was the high-pitched sound made by the Doctor's screwdriver as it finally finished it's analysis. He examined it intently. "Low density luminescent oxygenated perfluorochemical molecules? These won't be created for… centuries."
Martha, who was usually extremely intelligent with these things, said "I'm sorry, what?"
"Do try to keep up, Ms. Jones. Right now, we are essentially breathing in oxygen rich water molecules that produce light."
"So we're underwater? We actually are at the bottom of the ocean?" Martha said, attempting to grasp the reality of the situation.
"Indeed we are, Martha Jones," the Doctor said. "Breathable water. Low density breathable water, but breathable water nonetheless. Something is wrong here. This shouldn't exist yet."
Ignoring the fact that, for some reason, breathable water actually exists in the future, Martha said, "So this was once ocean water?"
As the Doctor was about to respond, he was interrupted by a cacophony of screams from high above. Both Martha and the Doctor looked up, mouths agape. The USS Cyclops glided slowly overhead, as a poorly thrown paper airplane might, towards the white sands below.
