Chapter 3: Scavenging Trouble
Notes: Third chapter at last, and quite a bit longer! Enjoy the reference to Back to the Future; see if you can find it! It's not hard!
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"Phew. Someone, turn up the AC, I beg." Martha huffed, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead to clear the sweat glistening on her skin. Since the sun had risen, the temperature had only one way to go, and it had been climbing steadily higher the longer it was in the sky. Martha's jacket had found its way to being tied around her waist, and Jack's overcoat was hung over his arm. Of the three of them, the only one who didn't look unbearably uncomfortable was the Doctor, who was making Martha hotter just watching his duster swing about his ankles.
Smug alien git.
"Nebati-16 is actually no closer to its sun then Earth or Mars are, but its atmosphere is a bit thicker then what you two are used to. It's not the heat; it's the humidity, as they say." He remarked informatively over his shoulder, his gaze wandering around the busy marketplace. "I thought I had timed the landing enough to avoid the worst of it; guess the chronometric regulators need adjusting."
"They always need adjusting, Doctor. It's a fact of life with you we all have to suffer." Jack mused, squinting at the sky. He turned his blue gaze on Martha, suggesting helpfully, "You can always head back to the TARDIS and change, wait for us there."
"HA! Not a chance." She laughed shortly, giving him a look. "If I do that, then I loose you in the crowd, and you swan off and have all the fun. I don't want to miss out on a second."
"Well that's not a bad idea, actually." The Doctor remarked, stopping in the shadow of an overhang, only to amend his words hastily as she turned her incredulous glare on him. "I only meant about the heat and changing attire." He smiled in a placating manner, holding up a hand to quell any protest. "Tell you what. We'll all head back, lock the parts we've already got in the TARDIS so they aren't picked from our pockets by the midday rabble, you can change into something more comfortable, and then…" The Doctor paused, frowning for a moment in thought.
"Then Martha can explore to her heart's content, and you and I can do the legwork and find the last few items." Jack input cheerily, draping an arm around the Doctor's shoulders and tugging the list from his pocket, offering it to the Time Lord. The Doctor looked hesitant for a minute, but his scowl was good-natured as he snagged the list from Jack and unfolded it.
"Fine; but remember, keep your eyes peeled, your wallets watched, and don't wander into any dark alleyways." He sighed, giving his companions a warning gaze. "I really don't fancy rescuing anyone today. This is a day on which we do not plan on running for our lives, right?"
"Right!" Martha grinned, giving him a mock-salute. The Time Lord smiled cheerily back, but it was steeped in concern; after Rose had fallen through the void, the urge to keep a closer eye on his companions had grown stronger, and rarely did he let either her or Jack out of his sight. It was a new quirk of his that they all-too-obviously held an understandable grudge against, despite their denying it. He shook off the feeling and gave the list in his hands a good look.
"Right. Anyways, it can't be impossibly hard to find an MRN 22-point stabilizer and a-" He halted mid-sentence, and Jack hid the grin of a satisfied man as the Doctor's face darkened with annoyance. "Alright, whose idea was it to write 'Flux Capacitor' at the bottom of this list?"
Martha had to stifle her laughter with her hands as Jack smiled innocently and shrugged.
"Wanted to see how long it'd take for you to notice."
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After the bag of spare bits and baubles was safely secured aboard their time-and-space ship, they'd all had a good laugh over Jack's little joke (ending with the Doctor taking a Biro and scribbling the offending entry out, while griping about how incredibly inaccurate that movie had been despite all his helpful suggestions to the writers), and Martha had changed her jacket and boots out for a cooler top and flat-soled shoes (the better to run with, my dear; you could never be too careful), the three agreed to meet up at the local pub, the Cantiana, for a cold drink in two hours.
Martha disappeared almost instantly into the crowd, heading for the local herbal shop, her curiosity about alien remedies for commonplace ailments too great to ignore. The Doctor and Jack set off in the opposite direction, hunting every scrap shop and mechanics for an MRN 22-point stabilizer.
"16 merles for a busted Terulian skimmer is highway robbery!" Jack griped, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shot a glare over his shoulder at the shop they had just left. He heaved a forceful sigh and glanced towards the Doctor, who was examining his new purchase carefully. "I'm pretty sure you were gypped on that stabilizer too, Doc."
"I might've gotten a better deal had you not been ogling the hired hands," he pointed out mildly, hiding the clear crystal tube in one of his coat pockets and sticking his hands in his trousers in a manner reminiscent of his Fifth self. "At least that's one thing done without casualties. Once we plug this new stuff into the old systems the TARDIS should run smoother. No more getting knocked off our feet every time we land."
Jack raised an eyebrow with a grin, and the Doctor threw up his hands with a roll of his eyes. "Ok, fine, no more getting knocked off as often as we do now."
A fellow who looked vaguely like a humanoid gecko with blue fur came creeping up towards the Doctor, eyeing the pocket that had swallowed the crystal tube.
"That wouldn't be hard," said Jack, his back to the crafty-eyed alien. "I think, on average, we seem to end up off our feet about eighty-six percent of the time."
This was just too easy. The gecko-man slipped even closer, studiously considering a tectonic magnifier that cost at least five times the fair price. His hand reached behind him for the Doctor's pocket.
"On average?" scoffed the Doctor. "Do you sit around making calculations? May I remind you, my ship is not the one that got blown up in World War II time-space!"
There was a loud 'snap' from somewhere behind Jack's back. He started, and turned, just in time to hear a whimper of pain, and catch a glimpse of a seedy young Graiton making a strategic withdrawal from the scene.
Jack's attention, however, was taken by the small, yellow-brown object fixed to his fingers.
"Doctor," he said incredulously. "Was that a mouse-trap?"
"What?" the Doctor gave him a distracted look. "Oh, yes. Nasty sorts around here; can't be too careful."
"Swell." Jack chuckled, slapping his companion lightly on the back, steering them both towards the Cantiana. "Alright Doc, how 'bout that drink? You still owe me a dance I intend to cash in on one day."
"Keep calling me 'Doc' and you'll be waiting till the end of time." The Time Lord smiled sweetly and strode off towards the pub. Jack smirked and cast a last look after the pick-pocket before trotting after him.
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The craggy old Nebatian woman manning the herbs hadn't been the friendliest of folk when it came to customers who just wanted a look. Not having any valid credits, or tesri and merles as the local currency seemed to be, Martha hadn't been too welcome to loiter and peek. She cast a sulking look back at the canine-like alien before setting her sights on another booth, dark eyes darting curiously over every flash of interesting wares. A toga-like article of clothing with brilliant tie-dye colors caught her eye, and she paused, fingering the material curiously.
She didn't notice the grubby little man haunting her shadow until he bumped purposely into her. She caught a fleeting glimpse as her wallet complete with ID flashed out of view into his jacket pocket.
"Oi!" She barked angrily, but he took off before she could act, weaving and dodging the milling crowds. Like a shot she was after him, dust stirring up as she maneuvered her way through the market, muttering apologies to the shoppers she jostled as she tried to catch up to the pickpocket. "Sorry, sorry! Somebody stop that guy, he nicked my stuff!"
Either no one heard her over the din of the street, or no one cared, but there was little reaction to her plea for help. She bit down a curse against the absence of manners in outer rim planets and vaulted over a stack of baskets. Thank heavens for mandatory Phys. Ed.
The guy was too far away by now, and darted right, vanishing around the corner into the shipyard. Blast it, Martha wheezed, slowing down and doubling over to catch her breath. Her side ached with a stitch and her lungs felt like bursting. Taking slow, deep breaths, she straightened back up, and walked forward into the shipyard, glancing around for any potential hiding places. Weasel-features had vanished into the woodwork. The student growled underneath her breath.
"No, please, I did what you asked."
The plea, unmistakably a man's voice despite the soft, boyish soprano, came from a back corner of the yards, followed by the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh in a rather violent manner.
Martha froze, darting behind a large stack of crates on instinct. Cautiously she shifted until she found a gap in the pyramid, and her widened as she saw the pickpocket from before being hauled unceremoniously to his feet. He was covered in dust and bleeding from a cut on his lip, and Martha couldn't help but wince as she noticed the splendid coloration beginning to form on his cheekbone. He'd have one beautiful bruise tomorrow morning. She couldn't say she felt sorry for him.
The two men standing over him were the definition of thugs; the one who had thrown the punch had a short, pudgy face with numerous scars, thick meaty hands and bulk that one just loved to throw around when smarts aren't on their side. The other was a snaky sort of man with a smile that gave the girl chills. Thug A was flexing his fist in anticipation, while his other hand was iron-gripped on Weasel's tunic. Weasel seemed less then thrilled about the prospect of being hit again.
"Dun care if ye did," Thug A grunted, baring his teeth at his captive audience. "We gots tired of waitin, din' we K'ran?" The grip tightened, and Weasel-features squeaked.
"N-now c-come on L'tral, I-I said I'd get the stuff, and I got the stuff, didn't I? This time tomorrow we can all relax; the Striker'll be pilot-less, the Katseye all yours, t-there's no need for unnecessary violence."
"Says you. Person'ly I like a bit of unnerss…unnessers…unneeded violence." L'tral smiled darkly.
"Now L'tral, we mustn't be angry with mister Jamisan. After all, without his help, who would we find to…finish off the Striker's crew?" Thug B, K'ran, let an oily smile cross his face. "Let him go; there is work to be done." L'tral grunted, but let go of Jamisan's tunic. The man dropped to the ground and scurried away as fast as he could manage, limping a bit from the blows. L'tral and K'ran moved out of her line of sight, and Martha drew in a shaky breath of shock. They were talking of murder.
She had to tell the Doctor.
Slowly shifting and rising up to check if the coast was clear, she glanced towards the shipyard gates, and her stomach sank; the pair was still there, blocking her only way out. She settled back down, hugging her arms around her chest and fussing with the beaded bracelet on her wrist. Nothing she could do until they left.