A Friendly Voice

Wilfred Mott knew he was not a genius by any standards, but he liked to think that he at least had common sense. He liked to think that he didn't blindly trust the government, didn't believe every bit of bollocks they dumped on the public. It was for this reason that he refused point blank to buy a Toclafane, or to even accept one when they were given out free.

His strategy of stubborn, point blank refusal had held out against Sylvia's equally stubborn insistences for exactly 21.5 days, which was a record.

On a Tuesday afternoon a month after the invasion - for Wilfred knew deep in his gut that's what it was - he had come home to find a floating, shocking pink sphere in his kitchen, floating over a steaming kettle on the stove.

Wilfred had let out a cry of alarm and seized a chair, which he intended to raise above his head and smash the intruder to smithereens. Unfortunately…

"Dad!" Sylvia had entered the room, and she explained how Suzette had gotten an extra by accident, and offered it to them for only 50 quid.

"I am not havin' that thing in my house, Sylvia!" Wilfred shouted, jabbing his finger at the floor. "I don't trust it, and I don't trust the government, and it's not makin' my bloody tea!"

"Dad, this is ridiculous!" Sylvia shouted back. "There is no conspiracy! It's just like an iPod. They're completely harmless, an' I paid good money for it, and this is my house!"

"I'm tellin' you that thing is dangerous!"

"An' I'm tellin' you it's NOT!"

Wilfred knew better than anyone the futility of arguing with Sylvia when she was in a temper, and he also knew that his best argument was the one he had to keep secret. Donna had told him a few weeks ago that she was working with someone else, against the Toclafane. Donna was rather cryptic, but Wilfred gleaned that this other person knew a lot more about the aliens than anyone else did.

He should really call Donna, Wilfred decided suddenly. He needed to talk to someone level-headed. From the pocket of his puffy old parka he withdrew a fat cell phone with a tiny screen. Donna had programmed her number into the stupid thing when she and Sylvia had forced it on him, but he didn't know how to get to the contacts screen, so he painstakingly tapped in the number he'd learned by heart and held the phone to his ear.

The irritating beeping resounded from the tinny speaker as Wilfred waited for the call to go through, but when it finally did, all he got was Donna's bored voice saying, "Hi, this is Donna Noble. I can't get to my mobile right now, so leave me a message and I'll get back to you when I can. Thanks, bye." This was followed by a cool female voice instructing him in how to leave a message, but Wilfred just hung up and dropped the phone back into his pocket.

He shivered. The night air seemed to have suddenly dropped several degrees, and the light breeze had become a biting wind. Wilfred decided he would go back inside and make himself a thermos of tea, and them come up to his telescope for a while.

When he got inside, the kitchen was magnificently warm. Their brand new Toclafane hovered attentively over a simmering pot of what smelled like bean stew. Delicious bean stew.

"Ah, excellent," Wilfred said, patting the top of the sphere. "Thank you, it smells fantastic." He took a seat next to Sylvia at the kitchen table and waited to be served.

oOo

Donna escaped out the metal back door with the peeling paint after Martha had (grudgingly) agreed, for the time being, not to use the gun. Donna hated guns. She hated death. She remembered the Doctor's face as he watched the water rush down the hole, drowning the spider alien's children. Was Martha capable of that?

She felt sick. Her stomach squirmed and sweat beaded along her palms. The sounds of London echoed all around her, car horns, drunken laughter, the rattle underground. She let herself calm down and regain composure.
She needed to talk to someone. Someone other than Martha. Someone smart and level-headed. She pushed her hands into her pockets, before remembering that she'd lost her mobile the day before the Toclafane arrived. Instead, she started off down the street towards the red telephone box on the corner. She inserted the last of her change into the slot and dialed her gramps' number.

The line beeped four times again, and then four times again, and then a voice said, "Hello?"

"Gramps?"

"Donna!" The voice was like a balm to Donna's frayed nerves. Instantaneously it brought to mind a dozen warm, starry nights spent lying on his worn old blanket, staring up at the sky. His scratchy familiar voice pointed out different constellations and planets, and the entire world was alright.

"Hi, Gramps," said Donna wearily.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? You sound awful."

"I'm just tired," sighed Donna. She rubbed her palm against her forehead. "Just wanted to talk."

"Well, you should get a Toclafane if you're tired," Wilfred suggested enthusiastically. "They do everything. And you can take some time off to relax."

"Yeah," said Donna. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I'll go get one first thing in the morning. Thanks, Gramps." She hung the phone back on the receiver and began the short walk back to the warehouse, feeling much more relaxed. Gramps was right, she was working too hard. She had no idea why she hadn't considered getting a Toclafane until now.

oOo

"Hey, Martha," said Donna when she reentered the warehouse. "Why don't we buy a Toclafane? It would make all this research so much easier."

Martha gaped at her. "What? What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," said Donna, taken aback by Martha's outraged reaction. "I just think it's a good idea."

"Okay…" Donna could tell Martha was fighting to keep her voice calm. She pressed her palms flat against each other like she was praying. "Okay. Think carefully. Did you talk to anyone before coming here? Anyone at all?"

"Just my granddad," said Donna, not understanding in the slightest where Martha was going with this.

"Where did you see him?"

"I didn't. I called him from the payphone on the corner."

"The phone." Martha grabbed her own cell phone from the mess on the table and held it up to her eyes. "Don't use the phones," she murmured. She flipped it open and held it to her ear.

"Martha?" said Donna nervously.

When Martha looked back up at Donna, her eyes were glazed, unable to focus. She smiled faintly. "We should buy a Toclafane, don't you think?"

Donna was about to agree vehemently, but something stopped her. A tiny voice at the back of her mind, rather like the Doctor's voice. Fight it Donna. Don't let it control you. She blinked.

"No!" How could she have let this happen! She didn't know what had happened, but she was suddenly overwhelmed with a powerful feeling of self disgust. She'd been wanting to buy a Toclafane! The creatures they were fighting! The ones who had attacked Martha and nearly killed her!

Martha jumped. "What?"

"Toclafane!" cried Donna. "Bad! Bad Toclafane. Toclafane bad! What are we thinking, how is he doing this?"

Martha's eyes drifted to the phone in her hand. She placed it on the table, as far away from herself as possible.

"Don't use the phones."

You'll be glad to know that this is the last of the disconnected short chapters. Finally the actual story is beginning.