Chapter 8 – The Runaway Martian
Notes: Rassilon! I never intended this chapter to be this LONG, lmao. Well, where there's action, there's lots of writing. Enjoy the 11 pages of junk. Since no one seems to be reading this anyways...guh. By the way, reviews make me happy. Happy Kesomon means more chapters and stories. Sad Kesomon means depressed Kesomon means no more chapters or stories
I need to be loved!
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"Hell. Looks like a swarm of vortesaurs got loose and had a party."
Looking at the Star-Striker, the Doctor had to agree with Jack. The cargo hold was a complete loss. Crates were overturned, cracked and splintered, and the floor was littered with muck - vegetable material, if he wasn't mistaken, and he wasn't, if he went by the sickly sweet smell of rotting mulch. Mel looked like she was going to be sick, and not just from the odor.
"What in the twin suns could've done- oh my god, GLITZ!" she exclaimed, and vaulted over an upturned crate, her boots skidding in the slippery muck. She slipped, landing on her hands and knees, and crawled over to Glitz's prone, still form. He was laying face-down, an arm crooked under his head, and blood that wasn't quite dry ran small rivulets down his temple and neck. Mel choked back a fearful sob and shook his shoulder.
"C-come on Glitz, don't be putting me out here, wake up."
She was rewarded as Glitz moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open for just a moment, unfocused and glassy. "Mel…blokes…the diamond…s..sorry...nev…" His eyes rolled back in his head as he lost unconsciousness. Mel yelped, shaking his shoulders harder.
"Glitz! Glitz, wake up! Sabalom! Doctor!"
The Doctor hopped over the crates boxing the old smuggler into the corner, and reached down, feeling for a pulse. "He's alive, at least. Blow to the head it looks like. I don't like the threadiness of his heartbeat. Jack, give us a hand here will'ya?"
The Time Agent nodded and picked his way through the slime on the floor, then reached down and helped the Doctor haul the unconscious Glitz to his feet, slinging one of his arms over his neck. The Doctor took the man's other side. Mel led the way to the medical bay, palming the door open and stepping aside to let them ease Glitz onto the bed.
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Her lungs felt like they would burst, and her heart was pounding so fiercely she was sure it could be heard by her pursuers. Martha didn't know if she'd ever been this frightened – nay, terrified, in her life. Sure, traveling with the Doctor always seemed to throw her into trouble, but most of the time the TARDIS had been dumped into trouble that involved aliens with claws, laser guns, take-over-the-world attitudes, etc. But it was all advanced technology and concepts she was used to. It was a very different thing when the enemy had primitive, projectile weapons that fired small metal shrapnel that could do who-knows-what to your body when they hit.
Unfortunately, as a doctor, Martha did know.
Martha scrambled up a rock in the darkness, feeling for footholds, and ducked into a small alcove, pressing her body against the smooth, sun-warmed surface. She waited in suspended agony as the seconds ticked by, turning to minutes, stretching into what felt like hours, flattened against that rock, the carved points of the diamond in her pocket digging into her leg. She forced herself to breath normally, inhaling and exhaling slow, soft breaths, regulating her heartbeat and calming her panic. And she listened.
The angered voices and the sound of footsteps on the rocky surface of the planet were getting ever closer. She crushed herself even closer to the rock, if that was at all possible, and held her breath.
Then, they stopped.
And began to move away.
Martha didn't release her breath until the noise of the two thugs had evaporated from the night. She let it out in a shaky, relieved sob, and slid down the rock face to sit, curling her knees to her chest. Pent up terror and adrenaline released itself from her system, and she broke down, stifling her ragged sobs in the fabric of her sleeve. She let herself cry for a little while, though the passage of time was impossible to tell properly. When the shock wore down, she took a deep breath to relax, sniffing and wiping her eyes dry. The Martian glanced around, mentally reviewing her assets.
That's what the Doctor would tell her. Review her assets, work out her stratagem, and act on it.
She managed to drag a grin from the frozen wastes of her mind, and plaster it onto her face.
Assets . . . assets. . .
The smile didn't stay long. Apart from a fantastically sized diamond and herself, she had nothing.
She shivered, and suddenly realized how cold it was. She didn't even have a coat.
Of course, the cold was something she was used to, coming from Mars.
But, she reminded herself, this wasn't Mars, and she had no idea how cold it could get on Nebati-16 when the suns set. Wrapping her arms tighter around her body, she tucked herself into a crevice in the rocks, where the sandstone could radiate the heat it absorbed from the day, and keep her warm.
In the morning, she could find the Doctor.
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It was an ugly room. Everything was a sterile, dead shade of white, turned to an unhealthy cream color by the dim twilight glow of the room lights. To top it off, the room was far too small, permitting no ease to the claustrophobic atmosphere at all.
A single cot was inlaid to the far wall, pushed up against it as though trying to escape –which was more than could be said for its occupant.
Sabalom Glitz lay on the clean sheets, his head and neck swaddled in white gauze and his left arm splinted against a hairline fracture, with no sign of life other than the slight rise and fall of his chest.
And, perched on a small stool by the bed, Melanie Bush seethed quietly to herself.
The pupils in those emerald eyes shrank dangerously as she contemplated the low-life scum that had dared to do something like this her partner.
If I find out who did this, she thought, hands clenching and unclenching like an angry cat, I'll kill them. I'll skin them while they're still alive, and barbecue their large intestines on an open fire while they watch…assuming they even had large intestines…or skin for that matter…
Suddenly, she sighed, as a wave of hopelessness swept over her. She felt like so…helpless, out of her depth. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced since –since –, well, since the last time she had traveled with the Doctor.
This is all his fault, she found herself thinking pettishly, and then refused to believe she'd even thought that. The Doctor wasn't in any way involved in what had happened; hell, they hadn't even known he was alive, let alone in Denabi. Glitz had been the one to have the "accident". If you could call it an accident – Mel was willing to bet a substantial chunk of her year's wages that this was deliberate. Someone had set out to injure, if not kill, Sabalom Glitz.
"Damnit, Glitz," she murmured, breathing a deep sigh. "You just couldn't listen to me. I told you making deals with anyone in Denabi was dodgy…foolish to think that we could evade trouble, even delivering vegetables…but you had to….oh Glitz."
Her voice hitched as she dug unshed tears out of the corners of her eyes, and looked at the sleeping smuggler. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Glitz. I still need you around, you hear?"
She tried to steady the waver in her voice, but it was failing.
"So don't loose this fight. I still…I…oh hell."
Mel hiccupped as a small sob forced its way past her defenses. She was a hardened space pilot . . . she shouldn't be crying like a little kid!
Apparently though, her body wasn't in the mood to listen to her brains reasoned protests right now. A tear slid down her cheek, tracing a pale trail down her dusty cheek.
Something touched her arm softly, and she jumped.
"Didn't know you cared so much, sweet'art."
Spinning to face the bed, Mel let out a gasp as Glitz's good hand fell back onto the bed-sheet with a weary half-smile. Just the smile sent a stab of panic through Mel –there was none of his usual cock-sure bravado. She laughed shortly through her tears, though, thumping him gently on the arm.
"Don't…dare scare me like that again, you old brute. I might have to kill you myself." She scolded fiercely. He let out a breath of a chuckle.
"My dear Mel, that would be aberrant of you, non-violent sort like yourself…"
She smiled, brushing the tears off her cheeks and squeezed his hand tight. When she spoke, she kept her tone soft. "You worried me…the Doctor wasn't sure of the severity of that concussion. Glitz, what happened?"
"Head's hard as rock, me…" He managed a brief, wry smile. Then he frowned, closing his eyes in pain. "Don't remember much really, it's all kinda fuzzy…was going to drop off the diamond-"
"What diamond?" Mel interrupted, then winced and patting his arm apologetically, indicating he should continue. Glitz smiled weakly and sifted through the foggy memories, telling her about the Katseye, the deal with the Larias family, and the fight with the two intruders that had put him into such a condition. When Mel told him that the grey box they had found was empty, Glitz recalled there was someone else…a girl, tied up. Probably bait. Mel frowned.
"What did she look like?"
"Medium height…dark skin, hair, definite not a local…" Glitz groaned. "God my head….I heard…the men yelling before I blacked out completely…something about the girl…and the diamond. She took it, I think…350 grotzits gone." He smirked, but his smile faded as he noticed Mel's deeply troubled look.
"What is it?" he asked, slightly alarmed.
She glanced at him and frowned, then patted his arm and rose. "Nothing, don't worry about it. Just rest, ok Glitz? I'll get you something for your head." She murmured gently, and left the small quarters, shutting the door behind her softly. Then she set off at a rapid pace to the flight deck.
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"I am under strong belief that Martha Jones was in our cargo hold last night, that she escaped in the fight, and that she now has possession of one of the rarest and most expensive and sought-after jewels in the entire Nebatian solar system," Mel announced in one rapid-fire breath the minute the cabin door slid open.
The Doctor and Jack gaped at her in confusion.
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"You let her escape?"
The voice was calm, reasonable. In fact, it was slightly too calm. K'ran and L'tral looked nervously at the vid-cam. They knew from previous experience that when something went wrong, it was a bad thing. When something went wrong, and the employer remained cool as a cucumber, it was a very bad thing.
The interview was going exceptionally badly.
"Well, see, the thing was boss –"
"Silence." The man's smooth accent didn't even change pitch, but his tone was enough to freeze L'tral's excuse where it stood.
"I will give you one last chance to answer sensibly," said the man, and K'ran felt a profound gratitude that he had not spoken first. "You let her escape," he asked in a voice that would have left a supernova feeling chilly. "Is that correct, or not?"
"Um," said L'tral intelligently.
"It weren't our fault sir, she got loose. That idiot who pilots the ship put up more o' a fight then we expected." K'ran pled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "And she slipped out in the fight; by the time we took care of the old man she got too much of a lead on us and vanished in the darkness."
"Is that your best excuse?" asked the dark man from the view-screen.
K'ran and L'tral nodded miserably.
"You," said the men poisonously, "are idiots. Worse, you are incompetent. I could forgive a lack of brains, but you two are not merely stupid you are useless."
Even then, he didn't yell, didn't even raise his voice. He didn't need to. His eyes, cold as chips of blue ice, told them everything they needed to know, and none of it was good.
L'tral, looking at the image, felt a sudden overwhelming desire to be a bank clerk, or a builder – anything else that would never put him at the receiving end of their employer's ire. Without so much as raising a fist, he conveyed the unmistakable impression that they were a hair's breadth from being casually executed, and replaced with more competent henchmen.
They were only too glad that they were safe in the confines of their shabby little bunker, and he was…hopefully somewhere floating in a craft in orbit. If not, K'ran was sure they wouldn't have lasted past the first word.
"I am paying you a great deal of money," said the vid-screen image, "and despite this, you still cannot locate one simple, stupid, primitive female ape!"
For a moment, the mask slipped, and the man's blue eyes flashed – and both henchmen felt something they hadn't felt in a long time.
Fear.
This man was furious. Not seeing red, or incensed –he was angry in the same deadly cold way that a Great White shark was when it took off most of your leg before you even realized you weren't alone in the water.
The dark man glowered murderously. Any big game hunter would have been running for their lives by now. "Along with the Katseye diamond. What's more, the 'old man' was left alive; you should've killed him when you had the chance. You do realize he can identify your pathetic excuse for hides."
L'tral gulped. "I told ye, K'ran, we should've taken care of him beforehand." K'ran shot his partner a warning look and smiled pleasingly at the figure on the screen.
"Sir, I'm sure you can understand…you're a rational man, yes? The temperature outside is far too low for any Terran human to withstand for very long. That's why we had to return ourselves. When day breaks, we shall return to the wasteland and hunt down her body. It shouldn't take long at all."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The air seemed to hang heavy in the two mercenaries' throats –it was an effort even to breathe.
Any sign of anger had vanished from the man's features. L'tral somehow found that even more disturbing than his previous fury.
When at last he spoke again, his voice was even as ever. It also had about the same amount of reassurance to its tones as the purr of a panther waiting to strike. "If you fail me again, I shall add your worthless corpses to my collection. I promise you that." The vid-screen snapped off with a fizzled pop.
L'tral groaned and crossed his arms over his chest, exchanging a nervous look with his partner.
"I dun dare doubt his word."
K'ran shook his head silently in agreement, and shivered.
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It took all of fifteen minutes for Mel to recap what Glitz had told her, adding in her own suspicions along the way. The Doctor absorbed it all with an unusual silence, pacing back and forth across the grilled floor of the small craft's flight deck in agitation and thought.
"So, facts, what do we know?" He asked rhetorically, once Mel had finished. "Fact 1 – we've got two guys with an aim to put a hole through Glitz's head. Fact 2 – they needed Martha for something, otherwise they wouldn't have grabbed her off the streets. Fact 3 – they're obviously working for someone, because no plan this convoluted could've been thought up by a pair of street thugs." He halted his pacing, taking a breath. "Fact 4, and this I'm rather worried about, they don't know who Martha is. This is very bad."
"How so, Doc?" Jack questioned, perched on the armrest of the main flight chair. "I mean, if they don't know her, and they probably don't know you, it should make it easier to find her. They won't expect your involvement."
"And no earth human could survive out in the wastelands for a night without protection, the rumor says, but Martha's from Mars. Far colder, right? She should be alright; they won't be looking for her as hard if they think she's already dead." Mel added, crossing her arms in a nervous posture. "After all, corpses don't...get up and walk around…much." The Doctor looked towards them with worry darkening his expression.
"If they don't know who she is, or who I am, then they're likely to shoot her on sight if they do find her alive. Sometimes it's handy to be a companion when being hunted by an enemy of mine; at least they have the decency to use you as bait." He shot an apologetic look at Mel. "But these fellows don't know the name of Doctor to be anything more then an earth healer, so we suddenly have a race on our hands."
There was an ominous silence as everyone took in exactly what that could mean.
Mel stayed silent for a moment, memories casting a shadow on her eyes. Then she sighed, and rose from her seat. "Alright; here's the plan-"
"Since when have we ever been able to follow a plan?" the Doctor jested quietly, before shushing under a look from his former companion. She continued.
"You and Jack head out to the rocks to search for her. Jack, take Glitz's blaster; he won't need it. There should be enough charge left in case you run into trouble. You can use your gizmo wrist-comp thing to trace the structure of the diamond; it's the only crystalline object out there, I assure you. And Doctor?" She hesitated, and sighed. "Be careful out there. You may not be, but these guys are most definitely armed."
"And what about you?" Jack asked, checking the power level on Glitz's blaster, which had been slung over the back of the flight chair. He strapped it around his waist and smiled at the comforting familiarity of the harness. Mel sighed, a note of sadness in her tone.
"I'll stay here. Someone's gotta keep an eye out for Glitz. They might come back to finish him off."
And I'll die before I let that happen, her eyes told them, and the Doctor could never have doubted her. He nodded, and gave her an encouraging grin. If anyone came looking for an easy mark, they would have a few surprises in store.
"Give em hell, Mel." He pulled her into a tight hug, and she smiled wistfully as they left the flight deck. Then her expression hardened, and she grabbed a second blaster from under the console panel, cocking it to readiness and slipping it into the holster at her side. Satisfied, she grabbed a bottle of painkillers from the medikit, and headed back to her injured partner.
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"Beautiful day," Jack murmured, as the twilight blue of the Nebatian sky was touched with the faint gold rays of the binary star the planet orbited. He spared the sight only a moment's recognition before sliding down the sandstone structures that made up the mountainous landscape of the wastelands. The Doctor was already far ahead of him, scrambling over the rocks like a mountain goat.
"Martha!" He shouted through his cupped hands, his voice echoing off the rocks in the morning silence. Jack winced; if their competition didn't know where they were before, they sure did now.
"Doctor, you'll give us away if you keep howling like that." He reprimanded, huffing slightly as he caught up. "Those goons are probably still out here and-"
He never got to finish his sentence. He caught a glimpse of a bulky figure perched among the rocks before the double-crack of a firearm split the dawn air in rapid succession. The Time Agent let out a yelp, his leg buckling beneath his body, and the two men tumbled down the small slope into a gully.
"You were saying something about goons?" The Doctor remarked dryly, turning to Jack, and his hearts caught in his throat.
Jack's handsome features were contorted with pain as his hands wrapped around his calf, clutching it so tightly his fingers were white.
Which was a stark contrast to the rest of him.
The Doctor's eyes widening in shock as he watched the torn material of his companion's trousers turning a dark crimson…far too dark, and far too much of it. Jack smiled a weakened, crazed grin.
"Well, at least we know what they're using for arms."
"Jack, you're BLEEDING. I highly doubt this is the time for jokes!" the Doctor snapped.
"Nonsense, this is the perfect time for jokes. They say humor is good for the soul." The man shifted his weight to his better leg and withdrew his blaster, firing off a couple of shots in the direction of their attacker. At the very least, it'd make them think twice about coming any closer.
"Well, with all due respect for the Time Agent's fortune cookie variety of wisdom," the Doctor grunted, trying to pull Jack out of the line of fire without exposing his unprotected back, "I don't think it's your soul we need to worry about right now."
"Well, that's good," Jack managed. "Cos, last time I checked, you were a Doctor, not a priest."
They were exposed as a nudist's backside, on the middle of a rugged hill, with a ruthless mercenary closing in on them…
The Doctor took another look at Jack's leg, and added something else to the odds stacked against them.
If he couldn't find a way to staunch the wound soon, there was every possibility he would bleed to death.
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Martha was not in good shape. Her usually coffee complexion had faded to a sort of dirty cream from the cold, and her bright eyes were dim with fatigue. Every single tendon of her body was jostling for her attention, giving off the steady ache familiar to all those who have ever slept rough.
And it didn't get much rougher than Martha's night. It turned out the nights on Nebati-16 were not just colder than Mars, they were a lot colder. She hadn't got more than a few hours of sleep that night –fear of gunmen and freezing to death had kept her on her feet, either stamping to keep warm, or to move to a new patch of cover.
At first light, she had gathered together the bruised and weary bits of body that made up Martha Jones, and headed for the main city.
She had walked slowly at first, muscles stiff and complaining incessantly about the cold and harsh conditions she had exposed them to. Then, she had heard gunfire in the distance, and her muscles had suddenly decided to pipe down and concentrate on getting her so-far intact body as far away as she could.
Of course, she had no idea that those shots were coming from the exact same guns that had put her in their sights only the night before.
Her fingers felt frost-bitten though, even after that, and she blew on them in a fairly futile attempt to warm them up, as she sneaked along the fence lone under the cover of the not-quite darkness.
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Mel had given Glitz a sedative to help him rest, and returned to the cockpit, watching the external scanner sweep their position for the thirteenth time. A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she halted the panning, turning it back to a figure lurking along the wall. It moved too lightly and was far too small, so definitely not a man. She peered closer, then gasped, flying out of her chair and racing down to the cargo bay.
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"Martha! Martha Jones! Over here!" A voice caused Martha to start and she jumped, flattening herself against the wall. Then she noticed a woman with curly red hair waving at her frantically from the cargo bay door of a familiar looking ship. The Star-Striker, said the name on the side.
Martha gasped – it was the ship from last night! She glanced around warily before sprinting across the yard. The stranger grinned with what seemed like relief.
"Thank goodness you're alright, the Doctor and Mr. Harkness have been worried sick about you," the woman said, introducing herself as an old friend of the Doctor, Melanie Bush. Martha recognized the name from the mutterings of her captors, and hurriedly began explaining everything she knew, including her capture, the fight, and how Mel was in very great danger standing in the open like this.
"And they said they were after this," she panted, pulling the Katseye out of her pocket and pressing it into Mel's hands. "I took it, but your partner, I didn't see what happened to him. Where's the Doctor, is he alright?"
"My partner and the Doctor are both fine, Miss Jones. Your two friends went out to search for you in the wastelands. I can raise Harkness on his wrist-comp from the cockpit and call them back." Mel gestured for Martha to enter the cargo hold.
The click of a pistol's safety cap made them freeze.
Martha could feel her heart stop beating as she turned around and found herself staring at the barrel of K'ran's Colt B-76.
"Well, well…fancy meeting you here, Miss Jones. And Miss Bush as well, what a lovely surprise. It's such a shame we couldn't all…get to know each other a bit better." He smiled pleasantly, and squeezed the trigger.
BANG!