Countdown
In a large, official-looking room full of control panels, computers, machines that measured things and the like, the Doctor stood with a comm device to his ear. In front of him was an amalgam of the finest minds on the planet at the moment: President Hadran and Ives, her aide, Major Fendono, Brother Marigold from the Cultivation Order, two senators, three of the top scientists from the Conglomerate, and Martha Jones. They all watched in wonder as the Doctor spoke to the Liskobians in their own language.
Though, to Martha, it all sounded like English.
The Doctor's jaw dropped. "Yeah, well, same to you!" he said into the comm device. Then he hung up the receiver and put it back on the hook with fluorish. "Filthy mouth." he muttered.
"What did they say?" the President asked uselessly.
"Oh, they're right keen on making peace," the Doctor said, irritatedly. "They're going to stop the siphoning right now, and start pumping in happy gas, just to make everyone start singing with joy. Mm-hm."
The President crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Doctor, please."
"They said they're not going to stop siphoning, and that they are glad to see the end of Asmei, and hope you all rot. They also had some choice words concerning Asmei's immediate female ancestor," he reported. "But I wouldn't want to repeat it in front of Brother Marigold."
"The planet has ancestors?" asked Martha.
"Only spiritually speaking," he told her. Then he looked about the room. "Okay then, plan B."
He dashed over to a monitor, and began turning dials, and watching lines move across the screen. When the lines slowed down, they became something like a plot graph, and the Doctor said, "Boy, the level of crude fumes in the atmosphere is through the roof. It's a wonder we're not being poisoned."
"We probably are," said one of the scientists. "In about three days, at this rate, our lungs would start to atrophy. If we had three days."
"I'm sorry, but without the enzyme to counteract it, at this rate, even if we could stop the planet exploding, the atmosphere would kill everyone within a week," the Doctor told them, without a lot of tenderness.
"Please, Doctor, isn't there anything you can do?" Major Fendono pleaded.
"Major, it would be like playing whack-a-mole. If we neutralize the magma beneath the crust of the planet, the atmosphere will kill us. If we concentrate first on the atmosphere, the tectonic plate-shifting that's bound to happen, even if we are able to restore Favurval to the air, would swallow us up. If we survive that, then, I don't know, the wild dogs that have taken over the abandoned cities would get us. If we had a month and a few thousand scientists, then maybe we'd have a shot. But as it is… ladies and gentlemen, I don't say this often, but your planet is doomed," he announced.
Martha looked about, and could feel the palpable sadness permeating the air.
"Doctor," she encouraged, gesturing with her head toward the brave souls, many of whom were now hugging and crying.
"I'm sorry," he said, now with some tenderness. "I'm so sorry. Believe me, if there were anything I could do to save Asmei, then I would."
"Well, that's it, then," the President muttered, a strain in her voice.
"Oi!" the Doctor said the gloomy room. "The planet is doomed, but that doen't mean that you are doomed! Remember what I said about getting everyone out of here? I bloody well meant it! Madame President, do you have an abandoned shipyard somewhere?"
"Of course, out in the Reterro Lands," she replied.
"Wait, Doctor," said the Major. "I was given to understand that you have a spaceship with infinite space inside. Couldn't they all just hitch a ride with you?"
He smiled. "Yes, but why would you do that when given the circumstances, you're perfectly capable of saving yourselves? You know the system, how and where to go, and what to do when you get there, yeah? These people have had a contingency plan for this sort of planetary crisis for millions of years."
"Yes," the Major replied. "I suppose they have."
"Then I would just be in the way. So, Brother Marigold, your gardeners just became mechanics," he said. "You cultivate life through your planet… how about saving lives on behalf of your planet? Follow me!"
Within an hour, the Doctor had the entire Cultivation Order of this sector of the planet, were out at the shipyards. They were searching through the debris, told to report back to the Doctor on any vehicle that looked like it might have something resembling an intact computer system.
The President was hard at work with her aides trying to locate factions of people still trapped in the cities, and/or refusing to move.
Major Fendono and the militia were venturing into the cities, trying to keep order from the chaos that had begun since the evacuation, assuring people that there was a way out. Martha had gone with them, upon the insistence of the Major, when she'd found out that Martha was training as a doctor. People were injured, injuring one another, in fact, and though the militia nurses were competent, they were exhausted, and Martha could offer a fresh perspective, she said.
The science conglomerate were in their labs, working out the rate of change in the atmosphere, so that the Doctor and his team of "mechanics" could correctly calibrate the combustion engines, efficiently enough to get the disused ships off the planet in time.
By the end of twelve hours, the Doctor had trained at least twenty of the gardeners to assemble an engine well enough for one emergency trip to a sanctuary moon, where provisions waited for them. They had put back together five small space buses.
The Doctor called for more help, so the President ordered some of her aides and all senators to help in the shipyards. By the end of twenty-four hours, they had thirty buses, up and running with a little help from sonic technology and two or three senators who had been in this line of work before getting into politics. The Doctor had no idea whether thirty buses would be enough, but it would have to do. They were now down to the final six hours before the death of this planet, and he reckoned they'd need at least that much time to locate and gather up everyone that needed to get out.
Anyone with any flying experience was summoned – most of them were militia members – and given a location to go out looking for cells of people. When the two-hour countdown started, twenty of the buses had been loaded with people from the hills and undercities, and had left the planet. The other ten were still looking. The President gave orders that at the ten-minute warning, they were to save themselves, and assume the planet was empty.
The Doctor, Martha, the President, the Major, about fifteen men and women from the militia, the science conglomerate, the senators, and the Cultivation Order all stood in a large rotunda in the Presidential Palace. The TARDIS was parked next to the wall. They all watched as a clock ticked away, and told them that the planet Asmei had one hour, fourteen minutes to live.
"Thank you, Doctor, for all of your help," the Major said, shaking his hand.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save her," he told her solemnly.
"It's all right. You were able to save the better part of a half-million souls, otherwise doomed to oblivion."
"You would have thought of it eventually," he said.
"My expertise is in war," she admitted. "Planning ways to bludgeon the enemy into submission, and keep our own subdued. Believe me when I say that this would never have occurred to me."
"Well…" he began. "All right, then. You're welcome."
The President stepped forward then. "I'd like to thank you too, Doctor. And Miss Jones as well."
"No problem," Martha shrugged. "It's what we do."
The Doctor looked around the room. "Is everyone here taken care of?" he asked. "You all have a way out?"
"Yes," the President assured him. "Each organisation has its own accommodation, as far as leaving the planet. We had always planned to be the last ones out."
"All right then," he said.
"Doctor, would you and Miss Jones mind leaving us to a few final moments of quiet reflection with our Mother? She's about to lose her life after nineteen billion years, and we'd like a chance to say goodbye," Brother Marigold said solemnly.
"Of course," the Doctor whispered. "Good luck, all."
He and Martha turned to leave, the militia folks did likewise in the other direction, and all citizens of Asmei left in the room began to come together to join hands.
But quite suddenly, there was a tremor, and the temperature shot up noticeably.
The Doctor turned back around. "Er, did anyone else feel that?"
"Yes," one of the senators said. "It's getting mightily hot in here."
Another tremor shot through the ground then, knocking everyone off their feet. With that, came another surge of temperature.
"I thought we had over an hour to go!" the President shouted, struggling to stand.
"It's a volatile process, Madame President," one of the scientists said. His words were drowned by another tremor, forcing everyone to roll to the south side of the room, and have to climb back up. "The rate of decay in the atmosphere must have increased for some reason."
"Doctor, what do we do?" President Hadran shouted.
"Run!" he shouted. "Get to your ships and get out!"