SEVENTEEN

A stare-down ensued as each party weighed his options.

At least that's the way it seemed. In reality, only the Namuh Gnieb was weighing... the Time Lord knew exactly what would happen next.

Suddenly, seemingly without provocation, Plexaphedros lowered his weapon.

But, of course, it was not without provocation. Martha surveyed the crowd. A thousand people had just seen Jack shot dead on the spot, the same thousand hearts were, of course, in love with the Doctor. A thousand faces now registered terror, a thousand human minds pleaded silently for the mysterious, handsome man in cloth tubing to be spared. All eyes were on the proceedings, and all of their will was focused on the Doctor's survival. The anti-humans were defenceless.

The Doctor's eyebrows raised with curiosity. "What's wrong, mate?"

Plexaphedros seemed a bit confused. He replied, "Not going to kill you right now."

"No, because you still need me," the Doctor said.

"I don't care about that," Plexaphedros said. "You have deceived me and cannot be trusted. You are now a liability. You must be destroyed."

"What about the TARDIS?"

"We could learn to fly it ourselves, we are not imbeciles," Plexaphedros insisted, uninsistently. "Though you do seem to have a sentient connection with it..."

Ahedruma piped up. "Rubbish! Kill him! Take him from the Negress so we can feed on her grief! Do it!"

The Doctor turned to her, opened his arms wide and steeled his face. Martha had seen him do this before the Daleks. "Then take me out. What are you waiting for?"

She rushed forward with her weapon. She aimed it at the Doctor, and then just as her comrade had, she lost her will.

The Doctor asked again, "What are you waiting for?"

"I don't know," she said with a total lack of emotion. She looked at Plexaphedros worriedly, and said again, "I don't know."

Martha saw Jack move a bit, and choke ever so slightly. He was stifling the loud gasp that usually comes with his resuscitation. They had agreed that he would not sit up again after he awoke, for fear that it would break the will of the people. If they saw that Jack could survive the blast, then they might not be so intent on willing the Namuh away from the Doctor.

Still, even in her state, Martha sat down near him and put his head in her lap, hovering over him, pretending to mourn his passing. "All right?" she whispered subtly.

"Yeah," he answered. "You?"

"Been better," she told him, still trying not to move her lips or give herself away at all.

"Is it working?" Jack wanted to know.

"I think so," she said. "They're losing their will."

Jack said nothing more and simply lay there, playing dead. Martha swooned a bit, and was reminded with full-force the seriousness of her illness. This had to end. Now.

"Doctor," Martha moaned, just loud enough that he'd hear her, but soft enough so as not to distract from the proceedings. Their eyes met for a moment, and the Doctor saw with horror that her skin had paled by two degrees. She was turning a sickly shade of grey, and her jowls were growing noticeably larger. Soon she would be going into shock and becoming delirious with the fever, and if they were still here, playing this game when that happened, she would most likely go the way of 90% of plague victims in 1350.

He gathered his grief back to himself. And then with a bravado which he did not feel, he said asked the aliens, "You don't know, eh? What about that idea about destroying the world with a virus?"

With exaggerated inquisitveness, as planned, Feeno exclaimed, "But they've already nearly done that! What more can they do?"

"Ah, but it's not just this infernal plague that they've created," the Doctor announced to the crowd. With that, there was a collective murmur. The Londoners were shocked: they had known that the plague had come from some evil, evil force, but they never expected to be faced directly with that force. And for it to look so human. The devil in disguise, perhaps.

"They plan to create another?" Feeno asked, with the same exaggerated quality.

"Shut up!" Plexaphedros snapped. "This filth, they do not need to know anything. They cannot understand!"

"They do! And it will wipe out civilization, my friends," the Doctor said, gesturing grandly. This was the truth: a universal computer virus unleashed in 2007 would do this kind of damage, but he mentally searched for ways to express this to these people in a way they would understand. "Medicines will not be available. No one will be able to leave the cities to escape the virus – it will be stifling, and devastating in all places! London will fall into ruin, and people will have to kill to stay alive... to eat, to find shelter, to protect their children."

The crowd's murmur was growing by the second. The Doctor was, of course, telling a little white lie. He was allowing these people to believe that the Namuh's new virus would devastate the Earth in their lifetime. But the truth was no less horrible. Six hundred and fifty-seven years was all this great planet had left to live, unless they acted now. The efforts of these humans in 1350 could save humanity in 2007, they just had to play their cards right.

And then the first voice rang out. "Destroy them!" one man screamed, holding a club aloft in the air. The crowd cheered him boisterously, and a massive, disorderly dance of vengeance began.

The Doctor was horrified. He wasn't sure why this possibility hadn't occurred to him. He'd been around humans enough to know that fear and mass-scapegoating led to angry mobs. Why hadn't he seen this coming?

Throwing his hands in the air, he cried out, "No no no no no! Stop!" Miraculously, probably thanks to his exalted status on Earth at the moment, the crowd quieted and listened. "This is not the way!"

The throng looked at him expectantly.

"Do not destroy! Think!" he pleaded with them, desperation apparent in his voice and on his face. "Think of a world lain waste by a virus. Think of people in the streets, fighting over food."

A murmur again overcame the crowd. Phrases like "God forbid," and "Oh, please, not again," reached his ears. This tactic was working.

"Think! Think of the alternative, my friends," he said, calming slightly. "Imagine these three evil-doers simply going away. In your minds, make them fade from your world."

The murmur was softer this time, and many people had their eyes shut. The Namuh now stood listless, helpless, staring like Zombies. The Doctor allowed about thirty seconds to pass, and then he approached Plexaphedros.

Softly, he said, "Hello there. How are things?"

There was a delay, until finally Plexaphedros' eyes focused on the Doctor, and he asked, "What?"

"How are you? Feeling any side-effects? Say, dry-mouth, nosebleeds, a desire to destroy the Earth?

Another delay, while the Doctor waited once again for Plexaphedros to focus. Then the Namuh asked again, "What?"

"Very nice. I'll take that," the Doctor said, siezing the vaporising weapon from him. He took each of the other two weapons as well, and disabled them using the Sonic Screwdriver.

"Now," he whimsically asked the three spiritless aliens. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

They looked at each other. "Hungry," said Maude.

"Yeah, I'll bet you are," the Doctor said with a slippery smile. "Nothing left to feed on, is there? Now why don't you three just come with me." He took the hands of the two females and gestured for the male to follow. He took them into the TARDIS, and emerged a few seconds later, shutting the door behind him.

"Doctor," Martha moaned once again, her color having faded another shade of grey. She slumped over on her side, losing consciousness.