Well, this is the final chapter! I hope you have enjoyed the ride!
Be advised, there is definitely another sequel coming up in the next week or two, to continue, and perhaps round-off, the C.J. Saga! At the end of this chapter, I will tell you the title of the next story, so you can keep your eyes open for it!
Thank you for reading - it has been such an emotional experience writing about C.J. I hope you have experienced some similar emotion in reading about him and his parents... even if he, himself, doesn't actually walk and talk my stories. :-)
Enjoy!
Chapter 21
By the time the TARDIS rematerialized in the former Pecclates Carnival, Yorlo and Elgar had been camping out in Michelangelo's tent for several weeks.
"Well, my friends, it is wonderful to see you," said Yorlo, embracing Martha gently. "We were beginning to fear that you were not coming back."
"Sorry about that," the Doctor said. "Had some things to take care of."
"What of your Time Lord friend?" asked the tall Vesthustran.
"He's gone off on his own," the Doctor replied uneasily.
"That's not what I meant," Yorlo said meaningfully.
"He's... gone off on his own," the Doctor repeated. "That's all we know for the moment."
"All right," said Yorlo. "Be careful, will you?"
"Of course."
This was a surprising exchange for the Doctor. It had never occurred to him that Yorlo might have been able to read Michelangelo's intentions and thoughts all along. He supposed, though, that if Yorlo sensed any immediate or intense danger, he'd have let the Doctor know straight away. Still, only time would tell; Michelangelo didn't seem like the aggressive type, but who knew what would happen if he regenerated, or surrounded himself with zealots and/or came to a position of power.
"Well," Yorlo said, changing the subject, clapping his hands. "Would you like to see what we've been getting up to?"
The Doctor and Martha responded with a resounding, "yes," and they followed him across the aisle to a tent that looked like it had been adopted as some kind of Base of Operations.
"This is Commander Tanjack," said Yorlo, introducing the travellers to a man in a military-issue suit of armour. "He is heading the purge here at the Carnival."
The Commander shook hands with both of them, explaining that he was a high-ranking member of the Marstwar Rescue Militia, and that their beacons had picked up more than eighty-two thousand psychically-imparted distress calls within the first two minutes after the barrier had come down. Within a day, they had freed any slaves that hadn't been picked up by the first wave of rescue ships, even getting to the ones who had been recaptured by the Oliris council. Now they were in the process of tracking down any who had gone underground, and any parties responsible for holding sentient beings against their will. Every day, they were rescuing or arresting at least two or three individuals, and as long as that continued to happen, they were going to stay.
"So you are looking into who is responsible, and how high it goes?" Martha asked.
"Technically, your friend Yorlo is looking into that," the Commander said, gesturing toward the Vesthustran.
"Elgar and I are using our psychic abilities, as well as some... well, I believe humans might say gumshoe work that I learned from you and the Doctor," he answered. "It's been slow-going since so many of them have sentient psychic-dampening equipment in their homes. Probably borrowed or stolen from here. But, as the Commander said, every day, we catch one or two."
"I am concerned that it's the whole planet," Martha said. "That it's not just this carnival, and that the planetary council knows all."
"We're starting small, working our way out," Yorlo assured her. "Trust me, if your fears are founded, we will be in the thick of it before too long."
She took a breath, and felt slightly more at ease. She realised that she truly longed to help in this course of action, to bring those responsible to justice, if need be. Being with the Doctor had changed her. She not only wanted the justice, she wanted to be someone who got her hands dirty and helped to find it. The fire inside had changed colour since travelling with him, and it was something she could feel growing stronger, changing further, as she became a mother. She thought about the numerous fights she should have stayed out of, over the past seven months, and how there was no way in hell she would have... but now...
She gulped. "Thank you, Yorlo. That makes me feel much better."
The Doctor caught her eye, knowing that she was trying to reassure herself. Not through any psychic connection, but because he knew her. He knew her desire for fairness and peace, and he knew the colour of the fire inside, and how hard she was fighting to keep it down now, for her own good, and the good of their child.
He squeezed her hand in what he hoped would be a reassuring manner, and asked the next question. "How are you getting them off the planet?"
"Well, we're not, at the moment," said Tanjack. "They are living in a sector of the Carnival that is being heavily guarded by our men. They are not here against their will, of course. Though, if they desire protection, we are advising them to stay within that sector, so as not to provoke a re-capture initiative. So far, they have all agreed to stay."
"Okay," the Doctor said. "Well, how many of them are there, and what's your plan?"
"There are, at the moment, two hundred and forty-eight former slaves waiting for transport," replied Tanjack. "We are still in the process of recording them, their names, ages, home planets and whatnot. Those first rescued were not recorded in this way, and we feel it is important to keep track of them. If they have traumatic injury that does not manifest for a while, if they are needed to aid with the inquest... they will need to prove their identity, and we will need to know how to find them."
"Quite right," the Doctor agreed.
"We predict this will be finished in a few days - perhaps three or four - and then we have sent for ten space-buses that can shuttle them out of here."
"Well, why don't you let us help?" asked the Doctor. "How many do you reckon have already been registered?"
The Commander went to a computer terminal that had been set up on a makeshift table based with a rope spool. He typed in a request, and said, "One hundred and seven fully registered and ready to go home."
"We have room for a hundred and seven," Martha said. "Easily."
"Easily, easily," the Doctor agreed. "Don't you think those folks would rather just go home than wait for the rest of the crew to give their names and numbers?"
"I suppose they would," said Tanjack.
"Then, we request permission to bring them aboard and take them home."
In an hour, the militia had separated those yet to be processed from those who were ready to leave today. The Doctor ran a quick explanation to the lucky one-hundred-and-seven, requesting that they remain either in the console room or in the adjacent hallways, and not to wander off into a rec room or tributary corridor. "Do not go up or down any stairs, nor through any star-shaped archways," he warned. "You may never be seen again. Understood?"
Everyone nodded.
They filed into through the door, and as they did so, Martha sorted them by home galaxy, to minimise the TARDIS' trips across space.
Nevertheless, the vessel groaned in protest.
"Sorry, sweetheart," she said to it, stroking the console. "One last favour... well, a few last favours, and then you can rest."
"She can?" the Doctor asked, bursting through the door with a new batch of former slaves from the Castelooper Galaxy.
"Yeah," she sighed. "Maybe should get back to London when this is over, don't you think?"
"If that's what you'd like," he agreed.
"Well, it's partly what I'd like. Mostly, it's what I think would keep us all the most sane."
He looked up into the Time Rotor. "I reckon she'd thanks us for that."
"I guess regenerating Michelangelo's TARDIS drained her more than we realised."
"Yeah," he nodded. Then he turned and directed the new arrivals into a corner of the room where there was currently no-one gathered.
It took just over nine hours to get everyone home.
The last was a family group from the planet Vassals Leep. When she had brought them aboard, she had chatted a bit with the patriarch. It had begun with just him and his wife, who was now deceased, and they had been captured just shortly after getting married. Their six children had been born into slavery at the Carnival, and the children had inter-bred with various other species, culminating in thirty-two grandchildren, also born into slavery. There were only twenty-one family members on-board now, as some of the mixed-breed grandchildren had chosen to go to other planets with their fathers or mothers, and others had long-since been lost or had died.
Martha had set them up in a bedroom near the console room, as some of the grandchildren were still quite small. There, they could all be together, sleep if need be, have a little rest, and not deal with the chaos of the rest of the ship.
And now they were all that remained. The Doctor flew the TARDIS to Vassals Leep with fluorish while Martha had gone down the hall to let them know it was time to disembark.
The family emerged, looking happy, but tired, chattering away, the adults trying to keep the children from exploding with the excitement of freedom.
Martha walked out from the corridor behind them, looking a bit worse for wear. She had been exhausted when she'd gone to find them, but now, two minutes later, she looked positively ill.
As they left, each family member thanked the Doctor, and he allowed some of them to embrace him. But in spite of the fact that Martha had grown rather fond of this family, and they were grateful to her as well, she hung back, and held onto one of the banisters that surrounded the console.
With white knuckles, she waited for the parade to depart and for the Doctor to turn back and notice her.
She needn't have worried. He had noticed her pallor straight away, and rounded as soon as the door was shut. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," she replied. It was a lie. She knew exactly.
"Well, come sit down," he said, trying to get her to come forward to the leather seat.
She allowed herself to be led, and she sat. She leaned back and exhaled deeply. He put his hands on her thighs, ostensibly to steady her, but really, to steady himself. And that's when he felt it, the warm liquid absorbed by the denim.
"You're soaking wet," he said.
"Yeah," she breathed.
"But it's too early for this," he protested.
"Well, we were expecting him in a month," she shrugged. "We knew he'd be a month early..."
"But no... not like this..." the Doctor said, uncharacteristically panicked. "It's too soon!"
"Doctor, I think the baby has other things to say about it," she argued.
"Seven months, Martha?"
"It's not like I chose this," she told him. "And my waters have gone... I'd say there's not much choice."
"Well, let's get back to London, like you said!" He turned and flipped switches, hands shaking.
A wave of pain overtook her, both dull and sharp at the same time, strong enough to take her breath away. She'd already done her obstetrics rotation in medical school, and knew this shouldn't be happening yet. She knew there were less-painful contractions to be had first, she knew that a normal mother's body should be ramping up to this stage, not arriving just now. The contractions that cause screaming and the surety that one would never allow one's partner to come near again... they were supposed to be hours away!
Nevertheless, she screamed in surprise, just for a split second, and then bit her lip to cope with it. She grasped the stool, and the wave of pain subsided.
Somewhere that seemed faraway, she heard a groan from the TARDIS. It did not sound right.
"Doctor, I don't think we have time," she told him.
He looked at her with worry in his eyes. "I'm afraid you're right."
"The TARDIS is exhausted, and I don't think I'm going to make it anyway..." another contraction hit, and interrupted her, threatening to split her in two.
He parked the TARDIS in stasis and grabbed onto her hands, and winced as she squeezed hard enough, it seemed, to break his bones.
When the pain subsided again, she smiled and said, "Well, C.J. said you delivered him."
"He did," he agreed, suddenly calming.
"You have done this before, yeah?"
"Yeah," he told her. "It's been a while, but I'm a pretty fast learner."
"Good," she sighed.
"Let's get you to a bedroom, yeah?"
"Yeah." She sat up straight and let him help her stand.
With that, another wave of pain hit, she grabbed onto his hands once again, and they waited it out.
And then they left the console room for the last time as merely a couple.
End
Please keep your eyes open for the next installment: "Twelve Sacrifices"