UP
As Martha waited, she wandered about, taking in the chaos. People crying, people cursing, trying (and failing) to use their mobile phones, people bleeding here and there, some moans of pain, plenty of cries of fear. The windows were plastered with people looking out, and the stairwells were trickling with people coming down, disappointed to find they could not escape this way.
She offered to help some, claiming that she was a doctor (she figured this one little white lie wouldn't hurt – after all, she was only six months from finishing). Some allowed her to help, others claimed they didn't need her. She knew she'd promised that she'd stay near the teller windows, but she couldn't just wait when there was chaos to calm.
As she was examining the pupils of a young woman who appeared to be in shock, a man ran up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Are you a doctor?" he asked, frantically.
"Erm, yes, but I need to see to this young lady here first, all right?"
The man obviously was exerting himself in trying to remain calm while Martha informed the young woman's friend that she was not in shock, but may have concussion, and she should remain upright and awake at all costs.
"Do not let her fall asleep, okay? Ask her every few minutes if she remembers who she is, who's the Prime Minister, her mother's maiden name, stuff like that," Martha counseled. "If she can't remember, I'll be around, all right?"
"All right," the friend said. "Thank you."
She turned to the nervous man. "Now what do you need, sir?"
"Possible broken rib," he said, returning to his former frantic state. "Large slab of marble fell on her, and she's having trouble breathing and she might have a broken rib, and the man said to find a doctor because the rest of us don't know what to do."
"Okay, okay," she told him, following him. "Just breathe."
She saw the young security guard lying on the floor, with her head in the lap of another young man. "Hi, I'm Martha," she said to her.
"Are you a doctor?" asked the second young man.
"Yes," she said. Then she addressed the girl again. "What's your name, love?"
"Wendy," she anwered, breathless.
"Trouble breathing, Wendy?"
The girl nodded.
"Does it hurt when you speak?"
The girl nodded again.
"Where is the pain, exactly? Can you show me?"
The girl indicated a point on the side of her tummy, just below her right breast.
"I'm going to find out if you have a broken rib, all right? It might hurt, but it's necessary. Are you ready?"
The girl nodded, and tears came to her eyes. Martha wondered if she'd ever get used to that.
Martha pushed on the point where the girl was experiencing pain. Wendy winced and let out a short, shallow scream.
"All right, Wendy," Martha said smiling. "You did great. Your rib isn't broken, but I think it's slightly fractured. As long as you don't move, it won't need to be set. Under normal circumstances I'd prescribe some pain killers and a few days' bed rest, but... can you stay still here until help arrives?"
Wendy nodded, the tears now falling sideways down her face.
Martha now addressed the men. "Bring her water, keep her head elevated, do not let her move." The three young men nodded.
"Do you have any questions?" she asked them.
"Yes. If a blue Police Box materialises in a bank vault, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a noise?"
Obviously, none of the men in front of her had said this, so she turned around. A pensive Doctor stood behind her, looking about at the insanity. She hopped up on her tiptoes and hugged him with a huge sigh of relief.
"Doctor," she sighed. "Thank you for coming." As his arms enfolded her, her whole body seemed to unclench. As possibly the only person in the lobby with medical knowledge, she felt a huge responsibility to make everything okay. And now, like a child, she put all of her fears on him, and relaxed.
"No problem," he said softly.
When they let go of one another, fifteen seconds later, she asked, "Any trouble finding the place?"
"Well, the directions you gave left a lot to the imagination," he told her, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But I only had to check four space stations before I found the building. And the traffic was light, so..."
"So, what do we do?"
"First, I have to work out where the hell the Judoon are going to land," he answered, beginning to walk briskly toward a window.
She tried to keep up. "Doctor, wait, there's something I have to tell you."
He reached a window, and unceremoniously moved a crying woman out of the way. He put her into the arms of a man standing nearby, and said, "Look after her, will you?" He turned back to the window and looked down.
He saw nothing but open space. Martha looked as well, and saw the same.
He raced over to another window, and this time, a teen-aged boy made way for him. He saw the same thing as he looked down. Nothing. Space. Ether.
"This will be different from last time," the Doctor said.
"Yes, I can see that," Martha told him brusquely. "Doctor, I need to tell you something."
"Not just because of the locale, not just because they can't land anywhere, but because their planetary jurisdiction rights have been revoked for five thousand days. That means that they're working slightly below the radar, which means that someone mighty slippery probably hired them, which means..."
"Doctor, are you listening to me?"
"Sorry. What were you saying?"
"I have to tell you about this man."
"What man?"
"I met a man yesterday and we went out on a date tonight," she told him, rather sheepishly.
"I hope you're not just trying to update me on your life," he said.
"No, no," she said, blushing. She realised that this was the first time they'd had to work together since the revelation came to light that she loved him. "He asked about you."
"He asked about me ?" the Doctor spat. "Oh, for the love of... what did he ask?"
"Well, it wasn't direct," she told him. "It was kind of insidious, really. First he turned up in the hospital with stomach cramps, and then he started asking about the hospital, when it went to the moon."
"Whoa, now that is interesting," the Doctor said, eyes wide as saucers.
"I know! So then, I see him again in this pub, and my daft sister Tish sets it up so that he comes over and sits with me. And it was weird, because he had the same..."
She stopped herself. How could she explain to him that Mickey had the same story of heartbreak that she did?
"The same what?" he asked.
"Let's just say we had a lot in common," she told him, carefully. "Then tonight, I asked him about his job and his girlfriend..."
"His girlfriend? You went out with a man who has a girlfriend?"
"Can I finish my story please? Anyway, I asked about his job, and..." Suddenly she realised there was no way to tell this story gracefully. "I had already told him that there was this... guy who broke my heart," she confessed softly.
He was frowning now, but still with her. "Yes?"
"And he started asking lots and lots of questions. I answered as vaguely as I could without alerting him that I was onto him, but then..."
"What?"
"I sort of went a little insane," she said.
"Why?"
"Well, he told me his girlfriend's name, and I didn't handle it very well."
"Why, what was it?"
She sighed. "Rose. His girlfriend's name was Rose." To her surprise, the Doctor did not react. "And the coincidence was just too much for me so I shouted at him, told him to stay away, and that's when we noticed the upwards rain."
"And he took off when he saw that, didn't he?" asked the Doctor.
"Yes. He's probably in here somewhere."
"I'd imagine so. Did you find out his name, Martha?"
"The name he gave me was..."
Just then a crash came from above. Screaming people began filing out of the lifts and stairwells, yelling about alien rhinos, blaster guns and execution.
Martha and the Doctor looked at each other. "The roof!" he said.
Hand in hand, they began to run.
On the fourteenth floor, Mickey paced. He was in a small office with no windows, standing under some very harsh fluorescent lights, inappropriately wondering how anyone human could be expected to work in this place. He oscillated between wonder, pride, nervousness and impatience.
Because, on the floor, a great big, ugly, humanoid rhino lay listless. Mickey had caught up with the Judoon squad and managed to pick off the soldier at the back. Luckily, the squad's noisy marching had covered the sound of the metal coatrack coming into contact with the giant rhino head, and that of Mickey dragging the big oaf into the nearest office.
"Come on, you big blob, wakey wakey," Mickey muttered as he paced. He knew this was the most direct course of action (if not the wisest), but he wasn't happy about wasting this time.
Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, the thing groaned.
"Right then," Mickey yelled, coming around to face the creature, weapon drawn. "Time to face the music."
The Judoon soldier sat up. "I hear no music," it announced in a deep, gravelly monotone.
"No mate," Mickey told it. "I'm the music man. Who are you?"
"We are the Forty-third squadron of the Judoon fleet."
"What are you doing here?"
"You have struck and imprisoned me," it told Mickey. "I witnessed the crime. The sentence is execution." It reached for its gun holster, but Mickey had been one step ahead.
Mickey reached behind and pulled the Judoon's weapon out of his belt, and asked, "Looking for this?"
"You have committed theft of an official Judoon-issue weapon. The sentence execution," it said.
"Yeah, yeah, tell me a new one," Mickey said, putting his own weapon back into his coat pocket. He trained the Judoon's own weapon on his hostage. He rather liked the idea of this creature being threatened with its own gun. "Now, tell me why you're here, or I'll sentence you to execution."
"Revealing intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."
"What sort of device is it that brought the bank to... wherever it is that we are?"
"We are on space station number 4-AH2 in orbit of the planet Shin-Fang 6 in the galaxy of Crawlawn. Revealing any further intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."
"What's the rain got to do with teleportation?"
"Revealing any intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."
"I'll give you to the count of three, mate."
"Revealing any intelligences is strictly forbidden by the Judoon High Code of Deportment."
"Fat lot of good you are," Mickey muttered, sitting down on a credenza but never lowering the weapon. "It's like trying to get information out of a broken record."
"Negative. I am a member of the Forty-third squadron..."
"Yeah, I got that, thanks. Listen, who is your leader?"
"The Judoon known as Sorecon governs our squadron."
"Did he come on this mission with you?"
"Affirmative."
"Take me to him."