A nice, big, science fictiony chapter... though not terribly sexy, except for some stuff early-on. Just stay tuned, it's all going somewhere.
PART FOURTEEN
Martha sauntered across the sterile floor of the Dionumah battleship's control room toward the Doctor.
"What did he say to you?" he asked her, his voice low, his lips barely moving. His eyes moved to follow her movement, but his head did not.
"He said that the Allesminta army has been located," she said, practically at a whisper. "They are still on-the-move, but they are a lot more scattered than anyone had anticipated, so we'll have to herd them back together if we're going to trap them in the spatial net."
"We?" asked the Doctor.
She shrugged, her eyes betraying a bit of tedium. "They. We. They're making an assumption," she said. "They don't know you like I do."
"No-one does," he commented, one eyebrow raised. Though, he knew that she was referring to the fact that given the murderous mission the President had delineated for them, the Doctor was probably not going to help.
"Doctor, why are we still here?" she wanted to know. A bit of her normal worry had returned. "Why are we still listening to them?"
He sighed. "Because I want to know what else they've got up their sleeves," he told her. "I want to be here for every new development - like this one - so that I know what we're up against."
"We?" she said, echoing his question from a moment before.
"You and I," he clarified.
"You and I," she repeated.
Their eyes burned into one another, as everything they said seemed fraught with meaning. She was still reeling from watching seven thousand ships turn tail and run, and from watching the possessiveness flash across his gaze just a moment ago... and he knew it.
"So, now answer my question properly," he growled. "What did he say to you?"
She blushed. She knew what he meant. What he wanted to know had nothing to do with the Allesminta or with war or spatial nets.
"He complimented my attire," she told him.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Cheeky."
She looked down at the cascade of bedroom silk that she had draped over her. "Under the circumstances, yes, I suppose it is cheeky."
"What else?" he asked.
"He wanted to know about you."
"What about me?"
"About the... nature of our relationship."
"I see. And?"
"I told him I wouldn't discuss it."
The Doctor couldn't help but give her a half-smile. "Which tells him everything he needs to know, I suppose."
"I suppose it does. But it's still none of his concern."
"None at all," he agreed.
Their eyes lingered for a few more moments, still firing at one another, remembering the decision made in the opera house, just a couple of hours ago: let no one in, ever.
"So Doctor," the President's voice rang out as he began to cross the room as well. "Has Miss Jones caught you up?"
"Yes, she has," the Doctor answered, pointedly, lingering for just a bit longer on Martha's face. "On lots of things, as it turns out."
"Well, then, I'd like to show you how we're going to round up the scattered Allesminta, and force them back into formation toward the net. Will you come with me please?"
He gestured toward a wide, rounded door on their left, and they all walked toward it. As they approached, it slid open, revealing a metal platform, a balcony that looked down over a giant open space. Martha and the Doctor both quickly and separately assessed it as an aircraft repair area. What looked like two high-tech airplanes were raised, and men and women milled about beneath them, talking, making adjustments.
A military officer stood at the post just inside the door.
"Doctor, Miss Jones, this is Lieutenant Tadlos," the President said. The Lieutenant saluted. "Lieutenant, I trust you've heard orders for the mission at-hand?"
"I have, sir," said the solider. "We are ready."
"I wonder if you'd mind giving them the grand tour," said the President. "The Doctor is going to need to know exactly what our resources are if he's going to help us strategise."
"Certainly, sir," said the Lieutenant. He turned to the Doctor and Martha, and gestured for them to follow. "I think you'll like what you see. We have some new technology that we're quite excited about."
He led them down some metal stairs onto the big open space where aircraft were being repaired. He gestured to some flying machines nearby that Martha gauged to be about the size of a 747. "I don't know how familiar you are with our aerospace and space-travel technology on Dionumah, but you'll see here, these are fairly large aircraft - rather cumbersome actually. Especially for battle."
"These are for battle?" the Doctor asked incredulously.
"Yes, well. They are also quite old, in technological terms. We are in the process of examining them to decide whether they can be refurbished for practical battle, or whether they will be used as outposts or communications stations or the like."
"They are A2-22 models, yeah?" asked the Doctor, squinting at the planes.
"Indeed they are."
"Aren't they also great big fuel guzzlers?"
"They are that as well," conceded the Lieutenant. "That's one of the reasons we are trying to decide whether or not to scrap them. Frankly, the craft themselves run just fine, and if we had all the fossil fuel in the universe, then some of the questions could be answered."
The Doctor wandered over to the undercarriage of one of the planes that wasn't currently being handled by a technician. He threw on his glasses and looked up into the guts, and said, "You could easily dismantle this thing and build something new. Something compact, fuel-efficient. I see at least three totally unnecessary pieces of machinery that could go... but you'd have to totally redo the frame of the vehicle and..."
"Yes, Doctor," said the Lieutenant. "This is precisely what our technicians are working out."
The Doctor detected irritation in his tone, and it gave him pause. He stopped talking and cleared his throat. "Sorry," he muttered. Then he looked at Martha and winced slightly, then came out from underneath the aircraft, continuing to follow Lieutenant Tadlos.
"Well, if your planet is running low on fuel, you must have some other programme going," Martha speculated.
"We do," said Tadlos. He led them through another sliding door, into another space, smaller, with more computers and less noise. Here, there were six small, tight, efficient aircraft sitting on platforms. "This room contains our current solution. This is what the President wanted me to show you."
The Doctor bent down and inspected one of the platforms that held a small aircraft. "This isn't a charge base, there's no contact indicator," he muttered. "So these things can't be electric, can they?"
"No, they're not electric. We have found an alternative fuel."
"Tell me," said the Doctor.
"Well, we're still working on the weight factor," said Tadlos. He went to his left and approached what looked like a white plastic keg. It came up to his knee. He bent and put a hand on it, patting it affectionately. "Since these things are rather heavy to have to carry about on a battle cruiser. But, we have made it more efficient. One of these barrels will power two of these vessels for twenty-four hours."
"What is it?"
"It's pure Brulure nectar," the Lieutenant said proudly.
"What does that mean?" asked Martha.
The Doctor explained, "Brulure is a fruit that grows greyish-blue on the vine, and overnight will turn blood-red as it ripens. It's supposedly got a super-intense flavour and they say its nutrients are sufficient as a whole days' meal. But not many people know its flavour, since it's considered inedible."
"Ah, but we've been doing some research," the Lieutenant added with a smile. "Do you know why it's been considered inedible?"
"No, I've never bothered to wonder," the Doctor admitted.
"Well, it burns the skin to the touch, and when you eat it, it doles out a wicked upset stomach. The kind that will put a body out of commission for twenty hours or so. Some of the rural folks in the early settlements discovered that the hard way."
"Okay," the Doctor said, in a way that let Martha and the Lieutenant know that he was waiting to hear more.
Tadlos walked to a nearby workstation, grabbed a rag and ran it under some water. Then he opened the lid on the white keg and extracted a pen from his inside pocket. He dipped the pen into the liquid in the barrel, and a stream of intense red syrup was left in its wake. He dabbed a bit of the syrup on the back of his hand, and waited.
After a few seconds, they heard a hissing sound. After a few more seconds, a small flame appeared on his knuckle. He watched it for a few beats, and then quenched it with the towel.
"It's combustible?" asked the Doctor.
"Yes!" answered Tadlos. "When the nectar comes into contact with any carbon-based organic tissue, it bursts into flame! But no one had ever realised this because everyone had always run for water whenever it began to burn. Water - or any non-flammable liquid - will put out the burn."
"Blimey!" the Doctor breathed.
"So, these craft that you see here, they are built with carbon-based organic tissue as part of the construction of the fuel tank. After five seconds, the nectar begins to sizzle, and after ten, it bursts into flame, and powers for us, essentially, an entirely new kind of internal combustion engine."
"That's bloody brilliant," Martha commented.
"So I'd assume that the brake systems are water-based," the Doctor asked.
"Yes," said the Lieutenant. "Again, we are working on that. The craft are small, and clearly don't have an infinite capacity to carry a load of liquid. For now, the internal combustion can be controlled with douses of water, but we are working on a way to make it react to vapour so that the brake tanks can be smaller."
"The water needs to be reloaded each time the craft takes off, just like the fuel?" Martha wanted to know.
Tadlos nodded.
"And so does the organic tissue, then," the Doctor said, flatly.
"Working on that too," Tadlos sighed. "For the moment, we are using newly-dead tissue from individuals who have donated their bodies to science or the military. Some labs back on Dionumah have been commissioned to find a way to grow living carbon-based tissue that we can use solely for this purpose... humanely."
"All right," the Doctor conceded, deciding to give them the benefit of the doubt this time.
"It's a work in progress," said Tadlos.
"I can see that. But at first glance..." the Doctor said, looking about at the small, efficient aircraft. He did not smile nor betray any particular emotion. But he did say,"... it looks like good work."
Martha could see that he was still guarded, still trying to reserve his real judgment until after he had heard the whole story. She was wondering what these alternative-fuel craft had to do with the Allesminta conflict, and the rather murderous agenda the President had in mind. She also wondered whether the Doctor had worked it out yet.
"It's solved our fuel shortage problem. Possibly forever," Tadlos was saying.
"Does no-one foresee a Brulure fruit shortage?" asked Martha.
The Lieutenant shook his head. "It grows on a prolific vine, just about everywhere on the planet. Has been considered a pest in the past, since it has, for so long, had no practical use. We are now asking folks to cultivate the vines that they find on their property, and the council is working on a way to pay them rightly for the fruit that they provide. And in addition, the council itself has begun cultivating both indoor and outdoor orchards. We have already replicated all of the fruit that we have harvested!"
"I see," Martha said.
"So the President is planning on using these aircraft, this fuel, to herd the Allesminta fleet back toward the spatial net?" asked the Doctor, gesturing to the six little flyers they saw on platforms.
"Well, not just these," said Tadlos. "If you'll follow me, once again."
He moved to their right, nearly into a corner, and another door slid open for him. They all stepped through, and found themselves standing on yet another metal platform, just barely large enough for the three of them. There was a long, long staircase off to the side, and the Doctor and Martha followed Tadlos as he began his descent.
Martha guessed that the stairs would take them down about four or five stories. From floor below, all the way up to ceiling above, there were squares of glass, stretching as high and wide as a skyscraper; there must have been a thousand panes. It was difficult to keep one's footing on the stairs for gaping at the height and magnitude of this facility, whatever it was.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Tadlos threw a switch on some sort of control podium. Suddenly, lights came on behind each one of the glass panels. At that point, Martha could see. Each one of the glass panels was basically opaque, but behind them, she could vaguely see one of the small aircraft powered by Brulure nectar. Each pane was a sort of hangar door for a tiny fighter spaceship.
"We have nine-hundred and ninety-four working craft on-board," said the Lieutenant. "The other six, as you saw, are in maintenance in the room we just left. Four other full-sized battle cruisers have been summoned."
"So you'll have five thousand little ships to go after the Allesminta," said the Doctor. "Give or take."
"That's right."
Just then, a call came over a comm unit that Lieutenant Tadlos had clipped to his lapel. He answered it with a, "Be right there." Then he looked at the Doctor and Martha and said, "You are both invited for a private late dinner with the President, of course. Please make yourselves comfortable - look about as you like. Unfortunately, I've been called away for the moment, but I assume I'll see you in the morning."
"Thanks," the Doctor said.
"Until then," the Lieutenant said, saluting, and turning away.