Chapter 5
Note: Welcome to the beginning of the end. Writing this, as well as seeing the spoiler photos from the end of the 4th season of Doctor Who, has inspired me to write something that I believe people will find infinitely more offensive than a 10/Martha fic with no slash and minimal angst. Coming soon, to a browser near you.
The Doctor's trench coat rested in the dirt of the alleyway, having been abandoned by it's owner who was currently sprinting down the street. At the same time, there was a sentient who by all appearances appeared to be an elephant with two trunks and three eyes sprinting up the street.
As usual, the Doctor followed the screams, and ran straight into E'ran. Rather, E'ran nearly caused the Doctor to regenerate had it not been for a lucky roll out of the path of the elephant.
"E'ran!" The Doctor screamed. "Where's Martha?"
E'ran turned on a dime, and let out a whistle of relief to have found the Doctor. "Thank the mother I found you! Two men and a many small creatures took your friend. I was chasing them, but they climbed down through the ground."
"Yeah," The Doctor panted. "They do that. Show me where, exactly where, they went down."
"Certainly." Said E'ran. "And I hope you'll forgive me."
"It's not your fau – OI!" Two thick fingers had grasped him by the nape of his neck and were lifting him up.
"Sit here." E'ran said, gently placing him on his neck. "And hold on!"
E'ran trumpeted and slammed the ground with his front feet, and began to charge. The city itself seemed to make way for them as he charged recklessly back while the Doctor grinned wickedly. He was tucked in close to the neck of E'ran, keeping his seat by gripping with his knees. In one hand he held his sonic, in the other a tuft of E'ran's scraggly mane.
E'ran stopped suddenly at a large pothole in the road, reared and smashed at it with his feet.
"This is it! I tried to break through."
"I can see that." Said the Doctor, sliding down E'ran's flank and landing hard on the ground.
He lowered his sonic. "E'ran, you won't be able to follow me," He began to fire the sonic in pulses at the ground, "But I wanted to thank you."
E'ran nodded. "Please save her."
With that, the Doctor jumped through the road, and fell.
Martha screamed, and again clawed at her captors. Three clones were dragging her through the base, and the more she fought them, the deeper their claws dug, but she didn't care.
"Let me go!" She hollered, attempting to work a foot free to kick the creature which had her legs. She only succeeded in having the clone's claws draw more blood. They passed room after room filled with medical equipment. Lab technicians gave her passing glances. Finally they reached their destination. A technician, his face covered with a white medical mask up to his eyes, came out with a mess of wiring in his hands.
He looked sadly at her. "Please hold her still." He said to the clones.
"Don't do this." Martha said. "Because I promise you, you'll regret it."
"I already do." He said softly as he began to arrange the diodes on her skull.
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"I regret everything, but it's OK. I know things get better."
"Well," Martha said angrily, "it's nice to see you've got such a great outlook on life. Perhaps with a little more positive thinking you could let me go."
"Have you had work done? I'd love to know," he said quietly but sharply, "the name of the doctor."
Martha's eyes grew wide. He couldn't possibly know.
"Martha Jones," he whispered, "you are more important to the future than you can imagine. Than I could imagine until I saw it." He continued to connect diodes to her, glancing back at the machine giving readouts. She stared at him in mute shock.
"The Doctor is coming to save you," He appeared to be smiling under the mask, "and I've got to make sure you're around to save him."
Martha screamed as the technician stabbed a needle into her chest. She gasped for air, and she weakly clawed at his arm. Her vision began fade, and darkness enveloped her.
"This drug will keep you alive in the capsule." She heard him say as she struggled to remain conscious. "Tell the Doctor..." He sighed. "Don't tell him any of this."
He pressed the com on his wrist. "The subject is ready for the psychographic cloning procedure."
The Doctor threw open another door, charging down the hallway. He'd heard a scream, and he was sure it was Martha.
"Hey! You aren't -" Shouted a tech, reaching for his wristband. The Doctor was faster, firing the sonic directly into his eyes. He went down screaming, clawing at his face, like many of the other techs that had tried to stop him.
"I'm sorry," The Doctor yelled as he ran by the man, "but it's temporary."
And it is better than you deserve for what you're doing, he thought angrily. Though another door, and he found himself standing in front of a plain wall. Gasping for breath, he raised the sonic again. Slowly, the wall lifted to reveal a row of tanks. Martha floated in one, her life signs fluctuating. In the other, the clone twitched as the psychic cloning process rewrote the structure of it's brain. He raised his sonic and targeted the tank Martha was in.
He stood there, the sonic ready. Waiting.
His arm lowered, followed by his head. A monitor went off, and a console below Martha's tank began flashing series of yellow lights.
"Still, you won't do it." Said the clone, standing at the entrance behind him.
He spun to face her. He opened his mouth, to tell her how dangerous what she was doing was...
"Coward!" She spat the words at him venomously. "What kind of compassion is this?"
"I'll always choose life over death." He said calmly, his expression now flat.
"Then you're wrong. Do you know what kind of life this is?" She growled in his mind, walking closer. Her black eyes flashed like polished obsidian, razor sharp.
"It's A life -" The Doctor began.
"No, it's not. It's not. Being a slave, ordered like an animal, spying on your friends, you call this a life?" She stood toe to toe with him, but her head only came up to his stomach. She cocked her head back as far as it would go to look him in the eyes.
The Doctor gazed down, stunned. "I won't, Martha. I'll take you with me, let you start - "
He was stopped by the sensation of his head snapping to the left, and felt the sharp talons on her foot tear into his face. He felt the weight on his chest of the clone's other foot as she dug her claws and sprung over him, pushing him to the ground. He landed hard on his back, and groaned, rolling to his side.
"No!" he shouted as she sprinted toward the control mechanisms for the tank her past self floated in. He scrambled for his sonic, but saw it laying across the room. Too far. She'd reached the console and ripped open a service panel. An alarm went off, then another. Both tanks were registering critical errors.
"You know," Came a voice from behind the workings of the tanks, "that this isn't the solution."
The clone stared at this new opponent with what the Doctor believed to be recognition. She leapt forward, claws open wide. The Doctor reached forward, powerless to save the man.
Or to save her. The concussion from the gunshot threw her back, and she slid limply along the concrete floor, coming to rest against a stack of containers.
"What have you done?" The Doctor raged, rushing to her side. She was breathing, a hypodermic needle buried in a bruise on her chest 6 inches wide at least. He pulled the dart out, and turned on the man. He stood as tall as the Doctor, wearing white technician's gear which obscured his face. All he could see of the man were his eyes, cold and blue.
"I couldn't kill her either." He said. "But we both know, she can't go on like this."
The Doctor looked over at the clone, and at the tanks, still flashing red.
He nodded.
"You're the only one who can manipulate this time line without causing critical damage to the fabric of space and time." He said, tapping on his wrist. "You've got 2 minutes. It's all the time either of them has."
The Doctor grinned, and grabbed his sonic. Twisting the device, he pointed it upwards. Wind rushed through the room as he called the TARDIS to himself. He opened the doors and carried the clone inside, laying her on the deck gently. He gave himself a moment to ponder her, his Martha. This was humanity when it was driven to the brink. Every species, not just humans, he thought bitterly.
"Doctor, thirty seconds!" Boomed the technician. He rushed out of the TARDIS, sonic in hand and pointed at Martha's tank.
"Is the transfer complete?" He yelled over the sound of alarms.
"Yes!" The tech yelled back.
A blue light flooded the room, and the tanks began to crack. "Get the clone, I've got her!" The Doctor yelled.
The tanks burst open, and both men barely caught their occupants. Martha gasped, her hands at her throat as she fell into the Doctor's arms.
"It's OK. I've got you." The Doctor said, carrying her away from the broken glass and liquid of the tanks. "Can you stand?" He asked.
"I think so," Martha said, slowly pushing herself away from him. She paused, examining the lacerations on his face. "You need stitches." She said, sounding much more her normal self.
"Oh I don't know. Isn't the rugged look in?" He replied playfully, smiling. Unfortunately doing so only emphasized the damage the clone's claws had done, and more blood dripped down his face. Martha continued to examine the wounds, her expression still intently worried.
"Guess not then." He said, turning from her to the technician.
The technician kneeld on the floor, holding the limp form of the clone. "We were too late," He whispered.
"For her, yes." The Doctor said. "But not for her." He opened the TARDIS doors, revealing the clone, still lying prone on the floor.
"But how?" Asked Martha.
The Doctor smiled sadly. "The TARDIS sits outside the flow of time. If it weren't for it, she'd no longer exist, and we'd be sitting in a rupture in the fabric of space and time."
Martha walked up to the clone, and put her hand to it's scaled face. She spent a moment, before turning back to the Doctor. "What happens to her now?"
"She's been driven insane. There's no hope of saving her short of a full mental wipe, and even that won't work if the time agency has hard wired her for their use."
"They have." Answered the tech.
The Doctor took the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and pointed it briefly at the TARDIS. The doors slammed shut, which was quickly followed by the sound of Martha pounding.
"Doctor! Doctor, what's going on?"
The Doctor turned to the tech, sonic still extended but now pointed squarely at his chest.
"That reminds me," Said the Doctor casually, as if he weren't threatening the man in the least. "How did you know my name?"
The tech stood silent.
"I asked you a question," the Doctor said quietly, "and if there is one thing to be learned from this, it's that making me angry is a very, very poor choice."
"So is polluting the time line. I've left the address of a cryogenics facility in a remote sector here. I suggest you take the clone there, before she wakes up."
"Who are you, to be suggesting anything?" The Doctor growled. "And regardless, no member of the Time Agency really cares about the damage they cause, much less understand it."
The man's shoulders fell. "You're absolutely right. They don't."
The Doctor's eyebrows crunched together.
"If it makes you feel better," The man offered with a shrug, "They will. But you know that."
"And I wouldn't lift a finger to prevent it from happening."
The man's cheeks rose, hinting at a grin under the mask. "No second chances." He said. The grin grew wider as he suspected that he'd gotten one, if not both, of the Time Lord's hearts to skip a beat. The Doctor's glare was intense, but below it, he was confused. Feeling that this was a suitably dramatic moment to make an exit, Jack Harkness activated his Vortex Manipulator.
"Oh no. Not a vortex manipulator." The Doctor said sarcastically, adjusting the sonic.
Jack fell through the vortex, and his body felt as though it had extended to cover the galaxy, and was being simultaneously crushed in the center of a black hole. It was better than dying, he reckoned. At least it was more interesting to look at. Finally he felt something familiar, the ground. Granted, he would have preferred his feet to be meeting it, but his face was good enough.
Jack pulled himself to his feet, blood seeping though the mask. He reached to take it off, when he heard a voice.
"I'd really rather you not." The Doctor said crossly. "If you really are in danger of polluting this time line, I'm going to assume that I'm somehow responsible for giving you the ability to do so."
He pulled at the side of jacket and replaced the sonic. Still keeping his eyes on the man, he pulled over a storage container and sat down.
"That being the case, better keep the mask on. But feel free to answer my questions." He said, crossing his legs and leaning back.
Jack nodded, still dazed.
"Why now? What is so important about this clone?" He asked, absentmindedly spinning his glasses in his hand.
"That hard wired programing I mentioned? It's an assassination protocol. These clones were designed with one purpose – to hunt time travelers other than the Time Agents. But this one," Jack sighed heavily, "Was designed with a talent in espionage as well."
"Steal the technology, kill the owner, silence the witnesses." The Doctor murmured. "Sounds about right."
It was right then that the Doctor felt a sensation he greatly disliked – his stomach falling. He bolted from his seat and dashed to the doors of the TARDIS, whipping the screwdriver out to unlock them. He threw open the doors.
The clone and Martha were gone. A console sputtered sparks, and the lighting flickered weakly, leaving the ship only lit by the center column. He felt sick, but was relieved by an emotion he had become quite accustomed to – rage. Rage, because he saw a thin trail of blood leading to the medical bay of the ship. He knew the smell all too well – human blood. As he began to ran, he heard the sound of the Vortex Manipulator again and decided it was a good thing with so much going on to not care about at least one event not going to plan. Hell, the surrealistically calm portion of the Doctor's mind thought, it's practically therapeutic.
He followed the trail of blood, and as he ran he concluded that Martha couldn't have been severely hurt. The only light now came through the floor of the ship, casting dark green shadows over the macabre interior. It was because of this he nearly missed the body of one of the creatures, crumpled in a heap against a bulkhead.
He knelt down and touched its neck. Dead. Deep slashes criss-crossed it's abdomen.
He stood and walked slowly the remaining few yards to the door of the med bay. He gripped the sonic tightly, ready for anything. The door lay feet away. Preparing for the worst, he entered.
One clone lay prone on the ground by the bed, it's head twisted at an impossible angle. The other lay on the medical bay gurney, it's hands folded neatly on it's chest. It's breath was deep and regular. The Doctor took another step into the bay, and froze.
Martha had been waiting, tucked along the wall. At the Doctor's left temple was a sheathed laser scalpel. He could hear the low pulse of the power cells in it, waiting to be fired. A press of a button, and a laser would extend from the device of exactly 6 inches in length, more than enough to kill him in an instant. He strained his eyes, peering left. Martha's face was contorted with rage.
"How could you?" She growled. "How could you leave me with these... things?"
Her hand trembled, grinding the scalpel into his skin.
The Doctor, with much exasperation, sighed. She cocked her head, clearly confused by his response.
"I hope you're ready to regenerate." She said maliciously, her thumb moving toward the activation switch.
"Do it." He said calmly. Martha's thumb paused. "The more quickly we get to the part where your psychic control over Martha fails, the better."
"But how?" She stammered.
"I mean, you really blew this one." The Doctor said, smiling wryly. "I'll admit though, the blood was a good try. Nice use of a real prop."
Martha's arm lowered, and the Doctor sighed a mental sigh of relief. The clone brought the scalpel, still sheathed, to rest on her neck.
"Oh, please." Said the Doctor, walking over to the gurney to examine the clone. He picked up an empty bottle which lay near the bed.
"I'll do it!" Martha cried, hand shaking wildly.
"You'll do nothing of the sort." The Doctor said, rooting through a large glass cabinet. "I mean, did they actually train you in the use of your powers? The survival instinct will keep you from killing yourself, and Martha," He paused, considering his words, "My Martha, wouldn't kill."
Having found what he was looking for, the Doctor opened a drawer, his back still turned to the clone. He pulled out a small hypodermic needle, and carefully filled it with a small amount from the bottle.
"Now, I'm going to assume that you've initiated a rough psychic impression, which means you are slowly causing irreparable damages to Martha's brain. Thankfully this stimulant," He waved the filled needle back and forth at her. "Will knock you out of your trance, and terminate the link."
"What about me?" She pleaded.
"As I once said to another body thief, you can float as atoms in the air." And with that, he injected the stimulant into the clone. Martha swung, trying to keep her balance as an explosion of blue light burst from her eyes. She groaned and began to fall, but caught herself on one of the shelving units.
"There's nothing left for you to take!" The Doctor shouted at the light, as it swirled in upon itself, becoming more and more dense.
In the light, he saw Martha's face ever so briefly, as she mouthed the words "Thank you." The blue light then began to swirl chaotically, and streamed with lightning speed directly towards the Doctor.
"I'm sorry." Martha heard him say, his voice quiet and pained, followed by the hum of the screwdriver. She looked up to find the light had completely vanished. The Doctor stood with the sonic still raised, frozen. His face was crestfallen. He lowered the screwdriver, but continued to stare ahead.
"Hey." Martha said weakly, still supporting herself on the cabinets.
The Doctor's face seemed to light up as he turned to her. " 'ello. You all right?"
"Yeah," Said Martha, "Just need the suture kit, please."
The Doctor raised his hands in protest. "It's really not necessary, I'm fine."
"It's not for you," She laughed weakly, raising her wrist. "She cut me to lay that trail for you. Or I cut myself. Not sure how that works. I got cut, and I need the suture kit. S'pose that's the point."
The Doctor went rummaging, and quickly found the box. He strode over to Martha and paused. She waited for him to speak, but found the silence too awkward.
"Look, about all this, if you don't want - " She began. "If you think I'm a... risk."
He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Martha Jones, I think I know you better than you know yourself." He said quietly, embracing her. "There's what we are, and what we might be." He continued as he pulled away. "And I'll only ever judge a person by what they are now."
"Thanks." She said, smiling. As she began to treat her wrist, the Doctor took a set of white shrouds from a drawer. Martha watched as he stared at each clone with an empty expression before wrapping them carefully. He paused the longest at her clone. For the first time, he could say that the creature looked peaceful.
"I've got something I need to do." The Doctor said without expression. "Will you be OK?"
"Never better." Replied Martha, not looking up from the careful work of applying a dermal bonding agent to the gash.
The Doctor picked up each clone, and moved them to the door of the TARDIS one by one. As he worked, he considered Martha's response. So focused she wasn't paying attention, or focused so she wouldn't have to? Either way, he thought wryly, that's very familiar behavior.
The bodies situated, the Doctor rose and walked solemnly to the TARDIS's controls. His hand paused over the controls as he considered where he should go.
"Yes," He said to himself. "That should be appropriate." Quickly he configured the ship, and let out a mental sigh as the engines began to pump.
The Doctor and Martha stood at the open doors to the TARDIS. Before them lay a burning blue sun, its surface like the ocean, swirling and turning upon itself. Silently they picked up the bodies of the clones, and carried them to the door. The shielding of the ship molded itself to allow each one though.
They stood side by side, watching the clones slowly fall into the sun. Martha looked up at the Doctor, whose eyes seemed miles away. He sniffed and rubbed his nose.
"Good riddance." He said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His eyes widened as he looked at Martha. "No offense intended."
"None taken." She said, one corner of her mouth turned upwards. "So, it's finished then, right?"
"Yup." The Doctor said. "Just have to make some repairs, and we're off."
"Speaking of repairs," She said, following him, "You still haven't let me examine those gashes."
"Yeah..." Said the Doctor, reaching for his glasses. "Can't it wait?"
Martha rolled her eyes.
He put his glasses on and began to examine the damaged console. One large plate on the console was covered in deep scratches, as if the clone had been attempting to pry it open. He took his sonic out and began to repair the superficial damage, while assessing the set of controls lying next to it. They controlled the dimensional size of the ship, allowing the Doctor to modify the shape and appearance of the interior of the TARDIS at will. They had been badly damaged. Placing the sonic on the console, he let his hand linger on the burnt out chips and frayed wiring.
"Why would she destroy those?" He murmured aloud.
"Destroy what?" Martha asked, who seemed to materialize over his shoulder.
"The dimensional modulator." The Doctor said, reading the complete lack of understanding in her eyes. "It makes the ship whatever size I want it. It can compress rooms until they're needed, or create whole new structures instantly."
"You mean there's more on this ship?" Martha asked, eyes wide.
The Doctor didn't answer. He was busy with the sonic, attempting to fix the primary controls.
"Arrrrg!" Yelped the Doctor as the console burst into sparks. He jumped back, holding his hand and scowling at the console. Then, from above, came a great groaning, as if the ship were splitting in two. They both looked up to see the ceiling being to shred, tear, and stretch, until the hight of the room had been increased at least by another 100 feet. A set of stairs tore themselves out of the wall and led upwards.
"Oh of all the rooms..." The Doctor muttered, hand grabbing his face.
"You see, it's - " He began, before noticing Martha was half way up the stairs. "Oi!" He hollered, giving chase.
Martha stood at the top of the stairs, attempting to make sense of what she saw. There were burnt scraps of cloth hanging from half-melted hangars and richly carved wooden boxes that had been splintered and charred.
"No no no no no!" The Doctor shouted as he rounded the top of the stairs. He fingered bits of tattered cloth, and scanned the wreckage. Looking... seeking...
And found. The Doctor rushed to a large black metal box, inlayed with silver crescents and gold writing. He put his finger to the lock, said a short prayer to anyone who cared to listen in his head, and opened the box. Martha came up, and peered over him.
Inside on top lay a worn scarf. Very worn, Martha thought. Tan with stripes of color, it seemed to her to be the most normal thing she'd seen the Doctor keep. He had a corner of it in his hand, and was digging though the box with the other.
"So..." She began. "This is your closet."
"It's not a closet!" He replied testily, still digging. "It's just a place I like to keep my clothes."
"You? Mister Two Suit?" She laughed.
"Better off you didn't know me before. Used to wear the same jacket every day. Speaking of which..." He trailed off as he fished out a battered leather jacket. "Here it is."
Martha stifled a giggle. "You'd be swimming in that thing! No way it's yours."
"It was!" The Doctor protested. "I just... lost a little weight, that's all."
He carefully placed the jacket and scarf back in the box, and sealed it.
"But now we've come to the very end of the mystery, Martha."
"What'd ya mean?" She asked.
"Remember the Amehans?"
Martha gasped.
"I think," The Doctor said, laughing, "They got my castoffs."