Hi everyone! Thank you for catering to my neediness... so great to get feedback on something I spend time on. I appreciate that so, so much. Thanks!
If you had trouble working out what was happening in that little room with the Doctor, I apologize! Here's a bit of an up-to-speed blurb:
The Doctor is in a room with a few billion nanobots. Normally, they would fly around the planet, taking readings from its inhabitants, finding out the median heartrate. Then, they would send data back to the main computer, which would then choose a maximum heartrate for the planet, based on the median. Once that's done, anyone whose heartrate goes above the maximum, as you know, basically has a heart attack and risks death. This action is performed periodically, to keep the planet's mechanism in shape.
The Doctor directed the nanobots to all gather in the room, not all over the planet, and scan all life forms for a median heart-rate. Since he is the only life-form in the room, he is hoping it will read his particular heartrate as that of the planet. He spent a few minutes trying to get his pulse up, though it was difficult with beta blockers in his system... plus, he has two hearts. ;-)
And away we go!
DISTRESS
It wasn't the first time in his life that the Doctor hadn't thought something through. And like many times before, he'd almost intentionally avoided really considering what this might look and feel like, because the reality was terrifying and he might have lost his nerve.
A swarm of billions of nanobots appeared in a tiny control room, where the Doctor had worked hard for several minutes to get his heartrate up as high as the beta blockers would allow.
The Doctor panted, "Oh boy. This is going to hurt."
And he silently prayed it would be worth the pain and work.
And that he'd survive.
It would be embarrassing to regenerate here in this room. And problematic for many reasons, not the least of which was Martha.
The bots were just doing their job, and were miniscule. An their own, they were almost undetectable, and hardly made any vibration at all.
But billions of them…
He felt suffocated. The sheer pressure of all of them surrounding him, scanning him at once… it was painful, stifling. It made him feel like his skin was buzzing, and not in a good way. He couldn't help but try and protect his head and face. And swat at them, even though they were doing exactly what they should be.
The room was dark and thick. The piling-on of tiny vibrations made the place hum so loudly, he couldn't even hear his own voice yelling, protesting this turn of events.
Eventually, the Doctor became disoriented, and as he moved about the room, he tripped over the chair parked at the control desk, and found himself on the floor… still swatting, still intensely uncomfortable, wondering how long this would take, and if he'd make it out of there with his body and sanity both intact.
How long before they realise I'm not in my cell?
How long before they realise the planet's been recalibrated?
How long before they give up on me, and kill Martha without my participation?
Will I still be here writhing on the floor when all of that happens, and be re-captured, welcoming of death afterwards?
The uncertainty might have been the worst part. With no idea how long this process would it take, was it all in vain?
But also, the claustrophobia was growing and growing. His frantic movements were causing the bots to work their way into his black rubber-like clothing, tight though it was, which made the whole business even more uncomfortable.
He could barely breathe without inhaling nanobots, in fact, he was fairly certain that he had, in fact, breathed in a few.
Hold your breath, Doctor – you don't need a thousand of these things inside you.
But for how long?
How long has it been?
Oh, God... the bots think they're scanning a whole planet. In that case it could be hours! Days! Martha will be long dead by then…
In his tool belt, Martha's mobile phone rang. He knew it was Colin and/or Donna calling with a status update on the TARDIS, but there was no way he could answer it right now.
He cursed loudly. He realised that in all of the conversations he'd had with them overnight, he had not had the presence of mind to give them directions on how to move the TARDIS to the complex of the Congress of Sercaton, once it was safe to do so. If he had, then they would likely to it on their own, once they realised he wasn't answering the phone…
That is, if the TARDIS was well enough to move.
Damn it, I don't know if the TARDIS is well enough to move!
It was moot anyway, if his companions on Earth didn't have directives from him, but still, not knowing concerning the TARDIS' health… well, it was a certain kind of agony for him.
He wondered if maybe he could answer the call if he covered the receiver to talk, but even reaching for the phone proved a chore. Nanobots swarmed round every part of him, including his hands, and then they got inside the pocket where the phone was stored. He couldn't even really touch the device, for all the tiny sensors in the way…
Plus, there were bots swarming his ears, and he wouldn't be able to hear.
He gave a stark, crackling cry with profound pain, discomfort and frustration. For his effort, he found his mouth swarmed as well.
Holy Rassilon, I hope this works.
Martha Jones was horrified. Luckily, she'd been injected with something that was keeping her heartrate steady…
…though she was not sure exactly how "lucky" she should feel about that, as she was not sure exactly why they'd given her that injection. She knew it probably had something to do with the execution, but the real reason why had not yet occurred to her.
She wondered if the Doctor had eventually been discovered dressed as an officer, captured and injected as well.
She wondered if the dosage they'd given him had put out his lights, given that he'd already taken two human beta blockers, or whether it simply turned him into a zombie.
Come to that, she wondered if he was still alive.
He has to be… we already know that they're going to use me to kill him. And they wouldn't let him die before parading him before the masses.
But all of these thoughts had had to take a back-seat to the here-and-now: the trial.
Though, her trial was over. She had listened as Judge Rabic had once again read out the charges to her: warlike invasion of Sercatonian airspace, reckless flying, violent incursion upon Sercatonian soil, extended trespassing upon Sercatonian soil, and her favourite, furthering the Time Lord cause. By Rabic's own admission, Martha had technically done nothing to merit death, but he'd planned on "selling" her spectacular execution to the masses by pointing out that she had helped a Time Lord in his agenda. Apparently it was now an official offence she had committed, and yes, she had been sentenced to death.
This had not been surprising.
What had been surprising was when they sat her down in the gallery and announced she would now be sitting through another trial: that of the TARDIS.
And this was why she was horrified.
The TARDIS was not here, and couldn't really defend herself even if she were. So-called officials charged the sentient blue box with the same crimes as Martha, made arguments against her, and subsequently, she was sentenced to death as well.
Martha had known this lot wanted the Doctor's transport, and knew they might love dismantling it, but she hadn't seen this coming.
Her own execution was pending… as was the Doctor's. She still, as always, had faith that he would be able to get them both out of this jam. But the TARDIS was a different story. If the Sercatonians had a way of bringing her back here, and they managed to do it before the planet got recalibrated (when would that happen? Come on, Doctor, come on…), then it would likely be extremely difficult for the Doctor to save her. And the thought of what would happen to him if the TARDIS was killed by these fiends…
Tears streamed down her face as a sort of gavel was struck upon the wooden bench, and Judge Rabic declared the fate of the universe's last living TARDIS as sealed.
Just at the end of all of the horrifying proceedings, an officer rushed into the court chamber, demanding Judge Rabic's attention.
"There are multiple reports of atmospheric disturbance," he man said.
"Well, that's vague," the Judge complained. "What sort of disturbance?"
"No-one is sure yet, sir."
"When you say, multiple reports, what does that mean?"
"It means, it's coming from the Law Enforcement, Military Surveillance, and Energy Management departments."
"It's probably just a storm front."
"Very, possible, sir," said the officer. "Energy Management is suggesting it might be just that."
"Thank you, Olby. Executions will go ahead as planned… even if there's a little rain," the Judge said, condescendingly.
Officer Olby bowed, then left the room.
It's not rain, Martha thought. Though, it just might be an Oncoming Storm.
"He's not answering," Donna said, her voice showing signs of acute concern. "What d'you reckon that means?"
"I'm sure I have no idea, Donna," Colin told her. "You'd know better than I would!"
"They're in trouble," she said, shaking her head, and cutting off the call.
"Haven't they been in trouble for days, now?"
"Yeah, but the Doctor has at least been available to answer the phone," she said. "What's changed?"
She desperately did not want to think, let alone say the word 'execution,' but given the circumstances, it was hard not to.
Colin looked about the TARDIS console room. "Well, the good news is, maybe soon, this mad old ship will be be ready to go, and we can get them out of there."
"But the bad news is, she's still not ready ready, and even if she were, we've got no instructions! I can't set coordinates for planet Circus-thon, can you?"
"I'm just trying to see the silver lining," he said. "You're alive, feeling well, and upright. The Doctor and Martha are both wicked clever, and yeah, they're in a jam, but rubbish like this happens to them all the time. And the TARDIS is making progress."
"Yeah," she sighed.
"I get that there's still a hell of a lot of work to do, but let's not nail that last bolt into our coffins until we need to, yeah?"
She looked him over with surprise. "Well, Mr. Brownhill, how the tables have turned! Aren't you meant to be the sceptical one?"
He hugged her. "I suppose. I'm just feeling better than I was a few hours ago, because I'm so chuffed that you're feeling better. Can't a guy just be happy… ish?"
And that was when they heard it: the familiar sound of the vortex slipping through the heart of the TARDIS. The currently very fragile heart of the TARDIS.
"What's going on?" Colin asked. "What's it doing?"
"Moving!" Donna shouted, holding onto the console.
"Why? How can it do that?"
"I dunno… maybe the Doctor's doing it remotely?"
"What?"
"I think I've seen him summon the TARDIS using the sonic screwdriver… maybe?"
Colin picked up a silver, cylindrical apparatus from the console in front of him. "You mean this sonic screwdriver?"
She looked at it with surprise. "Oh! Blimey!"
"It moved without coordinates when it answered your distress," he offered.
"Shit! That means…"
"That means…"
They waited another few seconds for the TARDIS' grinding gears to stop at its new destination. And when it did, the lights went out again.
"Damn it!" Donna spat. "You daft girl! You weren't ready."
She stroked the console, the way she'd seen the Doctor do, unsure if this was really of any comfort to the TARDIS, but she had no idea what else to do.
"But there's light, at least," Colin said."
"That's true!" Donna chirped. "Didn't the Doctor describe the inside of the TARDIS as being completely pitch-black when they were here the first time? With just, like, a hint of a green glow coming from the column there in the middle, so that they didn't run into stuff?"
"Yeah…" Colin answered absently, walking around the platform surrounding the control panels. "Didn't they say no light coming from those things?" he asked, pointing at the circles along the walls.
"He did," Donna replied, noticing that there was, in fact, a faint light coming from the roundels. She leaned forward, and pressed her ear against the console, and could hear a hum. She even saw the tiniest signs-of-life coming from between the controls. She whispered, "She's sick. She's not in a coma."
"How do you know?"
"I dunno," she said. "Just a feeling. "I've been in both Hypertensive Crisis and a coma over the past month at different times and… I feel that this is not the coma. It's the other thing. Which means the Doctor has been able to reset the heartbeat of the planet. Just a smidge, but that's something!"
"I'll say," Colin said, softly, but with a hint of the positive in his voice.
"If I'm right, that is," she said. Then she sighed. "It's still going to be awkward getting out of here in a hurry."
"Yes, but it's better than pitch-dark," he said. "And, hopefully, when it comes time to flee, we'll have the Doctor with us, and he'll have either recalibrated the planet by then, or he'll be able to coax her into cooperating… even if she's ill."
She put her hand on her hip. "He does have that effect."
"I've noticed," Colin said, with a smirk.
Donna walked down the ramp, and pressed her ear to the door to the outside. "There's a crowd gathering."
"So, we're not out in the middle of nowhere, like where they crash-landed."
"Nope. We're in the thick of it. But we know that the Doctor and Martha must be close, because the TARDIS chose this spot."
"How will we protect her?"
"Who? The TARDIS?"
"Yes. I mean, she's kind of helpless right now, isn't she?"
Donna smiled. "Bless. She has a perception filter, which means that unless someone knows she's here, she won't really be noticed."
"Okay," he said, swallowing hard, and coming down the ramp to meet her. "So… let's go out there. See what we can see."
Donna batted her eyes at him. "This is your first off-world adventure with the Doctor and the rest of the wacky TARDIS crew. Pretty exciting."
"Exciting. Yeah."
"It's all right," she said. "Just don't bring attention to yourself unless and until you need to. Watch what's going on around you, try to blend in…"
"Oh God," he groaned, and she could tell unequivocally that he was terrified.
"You gonna be okay?" she asked, taking his hand.
"I think so," he said.
"You don't have to come."'
"Yes, I bloody well do!"
"Okay," Donna said. "How about one last little snog before we risk life and limb, eh?"
He chuckled, and pressed her against the door, happy for the chance to ravage her lips, and feel like a man… one who knew what the hell he was doing, for once. He was mindful of this final chance to be hopeful for the future, before walking into probably more danger than he had ever been in, in his entire life.
This up and down of adrenaline was bloody weird, and this was how the Doctor, Martha and Donna lived their lives all the time. And had done for some time.
But as he and Donna melted into one another, if only briefly, he knew that this magnificent creature was worth every bit of uncertainty, danger, and fear that any of the "wacky TARDIS crew" could put him through. Just to be near her made it good. He could see it becoming, in time, fun, even.
Until something seized him.
"What the hell is that?" he asked, his mouth still pressed against hers.
"What are you? Thirty-seven years old, and you don't know?" she chuckled.
He pulled away. "No, Donna… it's in my chest. It's like…"
He began to cough.
"Oh! It's the planet!" she exclaimed.
And now all *five* of our heroes are on Sercaton! Execution is closing in!
Let me know what you're thinking, friends! Keep the reviews coming - I've been sooooo uplifted by them!
Thank you for reading!