C8 – Escape

here am i floating round my tin can

far above the moon

planet earth is blue

and there's nothing i can do . . .

It was a few hours before his plan was put into action, but after forty-two days up here, Jonah had learned the finer points of patience. The Doctor, Amy and Rory, on the other hand . . .

"You're sure you can get us out of this?" Amy asked. Again.

Jonah smiled vaguely at her, barely looking up from his incessant scrawling. He had a lot to tell his journal. He could hardly believe that this time a few hours ago, he'd been all on his lonesome, chattering away to his hot chocolate.

He was about to reply to Amy's query when a loud beeping made him jump. He leapt up from his favourite chair and out to the front of the rocket.

And couldn't believe his eyes.

In front of him, a spaceship much like his own was flying at the same speed as him, just ahead. A crackling came over the intercom, followed by a voice.

"You're allies of Earth?"

Jonah smiled contently and sent back his reply, "Yes. We come from Earth. We've found ourselves in a bit of a predicament . . . I believe I explained it in the message?"

"How did you know we were here?" The English was perfect, the accent American. Manhattan, if he had to guess. "We had our shields up. We shouldn't have showed up on any scanners."

He hesitated. "I'm slightly psychic." There, he said it. First time those words had left his mouth.

A booming laugh came over the intercom. "You serious?" A long pause. "Your ship's NASA-built, yeah? NASA sent you?"

"Yes. You?"

The same laugh. Jonah felt uncomfortable that he was looking like a fool in front of a complete stranger. "No, kid. We're not NASA. You need help?"

"If that's okay, sir."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight, sir."

"Twenty-eight," the voice muttered. "You always sounded that young? Never mind. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

At that moment, Jonah was aware of his three passengers standing at the entrance to the living area, watching and listening. Ignoring them (it wasn't like him to not realise people were in the room), he sat in his chair and began tapping at the keyboard.

"Here we go, kid. Hold on to your underpants."

"Figuratively?"

The man laughed. Jonah realised he'd said the wrong thing. Again. If Scarlett was here, she'd have stopped him looking stupid. "I like you, kid. You're all right."

The ship ahead slowed down until they were parallel, flying side-by-side, matching each other's speed. He let the other ship do the brunt of the work, connecting onto his ship like a jigsaw fitting together. On closer inspection, the other rocket was remarkably similar to his – NASA-designed.

"Wait, do you know these people?" Amy asked hurriedly.

Jonah shook his head. "They're okay. I trust them."

"How do you know that?" frowned Rory. "You've never met these people, right? So how do you know you can trust them?"

"Don't be such a party pooper, Rory," smiled the Doctor. "If Jonah trusts them, I trust them as well."

The married couple exchanged an uncertain glance.

"Please," added Jonah. "It's all I've got. It's the only change I can give you, unless you want to die here with me."

A banging noise broke into their conversation. The Doctor looked excited, and rushed to 'answer the door', as he put it.

Jonah glanced around at them and went back to the living area. The Doctor seemed to have it all under control. He knew his way around spaceships, Jonah could tell that just by looking.

He estimated eight minutes until they were out of his hair. It was well into the night (on Earth, at least) and he couldn't be getting behind on his sleep. He had schedules to keep. Until then, he leant back into the armchair and closed his eyes.

Exactly eight minutes had passed when he realised something was amiss. He opened one eye. Standing in the doorway was the Doctor, a cheesy grin plastered across his face.

"Thought you were supposed to be psychic," the Doctor said. "I've been standing here for ten minutes."

"It's only been eight since I shut my eyes," he corrected. "And besides, you arrived seven minutes ago."

The Doctor looked oddly proud. "Well, we'll be off."

"Bye."

He didn't leave. "See you, Jonah."

"Bye-bye."

"Jonah." He sounded almost angry. "I'm not leaving."

"You want to deplete my air and food supplies?" It was supposed to be a joke, but Jonah realised it wasn't that funny.

"Scarlett. Your wife. You have a chance to be with her again."

He sighed. "I signed a contract. I have my observations to send."

"You can whisk her away to Portugal. Or Dublin. Never did know the difference. I hear the weather's lovely, anyhow."

"Doctor . . ."

"Jonah."

He stood up. "I just can't see it happening. I've been training for these days my entire life. What would I do with my life?"

"You're clever, I'm sure you could figure something out. Become a carnival psychic, if you like."

"A carnival psychic?" Jonah echoed.

"Why, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, it's just . . ." He laughed, an unnatural, forced noise. He glanced at his socks and then nodded. "Okay then. If you insist."

The Doctor beamed, and nothing more was said.