Okay, folks, this chapter is fairly ugly.
The Doctor won't do what they want... but they've just kidnapped Martha. S**t's about to get real. And kinda potentially disturbing, if I'm honest.
Enjoy!
TWENTY-TWO
The Doctor had had his evening meal, had done some reading and thinking, and had surrendered to sleep a few hours later. He had very little context as to how long he'd been slumbering when he was awakened by the voice of General Kir. Once the Doctor gained his bearings, he saw the big man in the green uniform, standing outside the cell, next to, and in front of, Agent Pym. The latter looked disgusted, as well as frightened of the former.
"Ordinarily I'd be loath to wake you in the middle of the night, Doctor," said the General. "Please excuse this rudeness. But, frankly, we're running out of time."
"You're trying to bring about an apocalypse on Earth, and you're apologising for waking me up?" the Doctor asked, yawning, and digging some sleep out of his eyes. "Good to know you've got your priorities straight."
"Your refusal to help us has been vexing to say the least, and has put us on a tight schedule."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to have inconvenienced you," the Doctor said flatly.
"The capsule is to be opened in approximately eight Earth hours, Doctor, and we still have no idea how to reboot the process, once the new time-line has begun," said Kir. "We have had every sort of expert in to look at that equipment, but the fact remains, no-one can run it except a Time Lord. And you're the only one we've got, so our options are thin, indeed."
"Very, very thin," the Doctor agreed, getting to his feet. "Considering there's only one of me, and I'm not going to do it."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Quite sure."
"I've come here to make one last attempt at asking you reasonably to help us," Kir said.
"I already worked that out, thanks. But you should've just stayed home, General."
"Help us contain the human race, Doctor. Help us to save them, as well as everyone else, from their misguided, adolescent atrocities. Help us keep them where they belong."
"Not if you think they belong trapped in a bubble. No deal."
"Not a bubble. A time loop of which they will be totally unconscious," Kir said. "It's not cruel."
"Well, on that we disagree, and anyway, you're spectacularly missing the point. Several points, actually. But I've got no energy left to convince you, so I'm just going to decline once more."
"Measures will be taken, Doctor, to convince you, if you continue to refuse."
The Doctor sighed. "Yeah… I thought so."
"Not afraid of torture then?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that, but… I'll do what I have to. It's not worth sacrificing the Earth."
"What if it's not you who's being tortured?"
He then heard Pym's breath hitch very subtly, so subtly that the General didn't seem to notice. The Doctor's eyes switched very quickly to Pym's, and then back to the General's. But in that split second, he read pain on the Agent's face. And shame, and sadness, and fear.
His stomach hit the floor all at once.
"Oh, General Kir," the Doctor groaned. "What have you done?"
The General didn't say anything. Although, as if on cue, a loud clang sounded in the cavernous space, and the Doctor knew that the main door had been opened. It was a few seconds before he saw her, but when he did, he rushed forward to the bars in a panic.
"No… no, no, no, no! General! You've gone to great lengths to make sure that your prisoners are seen-to in a fair and compassionate way! That's good! It means you have some scruples, some honour! What the hell are you doing?" the Doctor all but screamed.
"Actually all that due process rubbish was Agent Pym's job," said Kir. "And he's done extremely well at it. I daresay he convinced you at first that we were the Galactic Council. My job is to work with Mr. Greene on how to contain time blocks again, so as to continue the time loop, and I don't give a damn about the Rights of the Living."
"Well that's pretty bloody clear!" the Doctor shouted.
By now, the two agents who were leading Martha Jones by the arms were standing in front of him with his Companion between them. Her hands were still bound by invisible cuffs behind her back, her mouth was sealed with strong tape. She looked at him pleadingly, apologetically, with panic, with resignation… heartbreaking fear.
"General, be reasonable," the Doctor begged. "You're a military man – a man of principle. You cannot do this!"
"I am a military man. Which means, I am a man of war," Kir told him. "In war, there is no principle."
"That is not true!"
"I say it is. Nevertheless, I see no need for mindless brutality – keeping prisoners relatively comfortable generally costs little, so I haven't had a problem with it thus far. But here it is, Doctor: either you show us how the equipment works, or I shall be… shall we say less than stringent about the parameters of due process and the cruelty scale of Orlingus, during Dr. Jones' stay here."
Seeing Martha held this way, being subjected to God Knew What on his account, bound, silenced, terrified… it sent him into panic. He was desperate to be by her side, touch her, set her free. His breath came quickly and heavily – he couldn't contain it.
"Come on, General! Your complaint is with me! Deal with me! Torture me until I crack! Just leave her alone!"
The General turned toward Martha and seemed to look her over. Then he asked, in a sickeningly lilting voice, "So you're Martha Jones, eh? The Doctor's… Companion. Best friend? Lover? Travelling partner? Co-conspirator?"
Martha stared back at him, her eyes registering disgust.
"Answer me!" he screamed at her, positioning his arm as though to backhand her.
"General…" the Doctor cut in.
Martha closed her eyes and turned her head, bracing for the blow. But when it did not come, she opened her eyes, found him still poised for violence. She nodded her head subtly, in concession, indicating that what he had said was true.
He circled around her, again, studying every inch of her. "Well, Doctor, this is the first time I've seen her," he said silkily. "And can I just say, well-done, sir." He gave the Doctor a twitch of the eyebrow.
The Doctor said nothing. He had no idea how to diffuse this, but he could see where it was going… and it made him want to vomit.
"Well done, indeed," the General said to him. "I'd be hard-pressed to find a better-formed human. Well, wouldn't it be a shame if she fell in the wrong hands?"
"General Kir, please don't make me choose between her, and her planet," the Doctor begged, hands gripping the bars, his voice ragged. "I'll do anything else… anything. That room, the one that the Time Lords built, it's a powerhouse – it's got almost infinite potential to manipulate time. You could have, or see, or do anything you want. Go anywhere, any-when. Live like a king, be a fly on the wall, have total glory in battle if you like – I'll show you how! Only, let her go, and leave the Earth alone!"
The Doctor was struggling to keep his voice even, it was clear to everyone. Martha groaned, and tears filled her eyes, as the Doctor pleaded.
Kir addressed Martha. "He's stubborn. And noble. That must be a huge turn-on. How you feeling now, love?"
Martha looked away from him, as fresh tears spilled over her cheeks.
"Don't talk to her, talk to me!" demanded the Doctor. "I'm your prisoner! I'm the one not doing what you want! Leave her out of this – she hasn't done anything!"
Now, Kir spoke to the agents holding Martha's arms. "Gentlemen, he's not acquiescing quickly enough for me. Which means that Dr. Jones isn't quite abject enough to convince him."
Martha gave a growl-cry as the agents behind her forced her to her knees.
The Doctor forced down his own righteous panic, and made himself think. If he didn't act with some kind of masterstroke in the next couple of minutes, something horrible would happen to Martha at the General's hands, and the Earth would become a wasteland. He tried to assess his options…
He stole a look at Agent Pym. His expression was one of shock and dread, leaving no question of his attitude on this whole state of affairs… but he was unmoving. The Doctor could see that he was not yet prepared to openly defy his superiors. In addition, if Pym lurched forward and resisted now, it would be three-to-one, and the man was too pragmatic for that. Pym's intervention had to be seen as a non-option. For now.
The General stood directly in front of Martha as she knelt, staring up at him with total contempt.
"That's better," the General whispered. He smiled disgustingly. "That's a good position for you, isn't it, Dr. Jones?"
Martha couldn't help but give a repulsed groan, and look away from him again.
"General, stop," the Doctor said. "Stop now, and you can still recover from this. It's not too late!"
Kir ignored him. He continued to taunt Martha. "Only… no, this won't do. It does no good to have you on your knees if…" He reached down and in one stroke, ripped the tape off Martha's face that had been binding her mouth. A loud tearing sound cut through the air, and Martha herself gave a cry of terrible pain. She nearly fell over, but was caught by the agents behind her. "There now – unobstructed. That's perfect. What say you, Doctor… don't you think she's just lovely this way?"
The Doctor and Martha locked eyes again, both pleading, both teary, both flat-out with fear and confusion.
When the Doctor did not answer, the General said, "Okay, men. Her new home is the brick pen in the cellar, and please let Colonel Rax know that we'll need a high-voltage branding kit, ASAP. Although, for the moment, why don't you deposit her in my office? She and I can get better acquainted, and I'll call you when I'm done with her."
Martha hissed an expletive, then coughed a few times then, forcing down a screaming panic.
The Doctor's own panic was welling up as well – he couldn't stop it.
Calm down, Doctor. This isn't going to get you out of this. You've been in worse situations before…
But perhaps Martha has not. Even the Master never put her in quite this sort of predicament.
He panted, his knuckles went white around the bars, and his eyes jetted back and forth between Martha and the man who was now caressing her cheek suggestively, and smirking at her….
Resources, resources… what have I got? What will these guys do if I say no? What will they do if I say yes? What has Martha already been though?
Resources, resources… I can sonic the bars open, but what are my chances of escaping with both of our lives? Practically nil.
The wheels were turning behind his eyes, Martha could see that. And from his body language, she could also see that he was on the verge of caving in.
She pulled herself upright, and said, "Doctor. No. Stop. I know what you're thinking. Just… don't. I'll be okay."
He looked at her with wide, terrified, resigned eyes. "No, you won't," he responded, his voice cracking, and barely audible.
New tears spilled over, out of her eyes, onto her very raw cheeks. "Even if I'm not… you can't do it. You can't."
He groaned as if in pain, and buried his face against his forearms, and gripped the bars, if possible, even more tightly.
"Tick tock, Time Lord," said Kir. "Actually, to be honest, now I'm almost hoping you keep refusing for a while longer. I'm keen to spend a little quality time with Dr. Jones, if you please. I know Colonel Rax would be, as well, once the first session of branding is over."
The General waited another five seconds, then he snapped his fingers and pointed toward the main door, signaling to the agents that Martha should be taken away.
"No! Stop!" the Doctor cried out.
"Too late, Doctor," Kir said, dismissing his pleas, and turning on his heel, following the agents down the hall.
Resources, resources… what have I got?
Almost nothing.
"I'll do it!"
"No!" Martha protested. "No you won't! Just let them take me!"
"I can't," he groaned, stepping back from the bars, in total despair. "General, I'll show you how to contain a time block, all right? I'll do it, just… oh, God, please don't…"
"Doctor, don't be stupid," Martha scolded. "Whatever they can do to me is nothing compared to what's going to happen to my planet!"
"Martha… Martha…" he whispered desperately. "I can't let you… just… trust me. General, I'll do what you want. Tell me she'll be safe. Swear to it."
"She'll be safe," he said.
"Swear."
"I swear."
"She will not be hurt, not be made uncomfortable, and will not be forced to do anything."
"Oh, Doctor…" Martha groaned.
It's me or the planet… and he's choosing me? He cannot be this daft! Not even love would push him this far!
The General sighed, it seemed, with disgusting disappointment. "Fine, she won't be touched. Officer's word of honour."
"You'll forgive me if that doesn't mean much to me," the Doctor growled. "Now listen to me, Kir. I have ways of making you suffer, if anything bad happens to her. And I can fail-safe that mechanism so that the containment process gets reversed, and you lose your time loop. I can have you sucked into the vortex for all time, if I choose."
"Agent Pym, will you please escort Dr. Jones to a holding cell on the opposite wing? And, you know… do what you do," Kir said, gesturing to the Doctor's cell, and the conditions Pym had set up. "I will notify you if that directive is to change."
"Yes, sir," Pym said, stepping forward. He took Martha's arm gently, and began walking with her toward the main door.
"Doctor, someone will be round to collect you in a little while," said the General. "Get ready to earn your stripes as a Time Lord."
"Because destroying one planet wasn't enough to do that," the Doctor muttered, under his breath.
"They have no idea you're not one of them, do they?" a very haggard-looking Martha Jones asked Agent Pym.
He pressed a button on his tool belt, and her invisible handcuffs came undone. "No," he said, rather quietly. "Given the display I just saw, I reckon things would not end well for me, if they ever realised it."
"You've never seen them do anything like that before? Threaten someone that way?"
"No," he admitted, opening the gate to a cell across the complex, very much like that of the Doctor. "I've only ever seen that sort of thing once, way back at my first policing job. A female inmate under a big, burly guard. He kept her in line with the constant threat of… violation. Since then, mercifully, I've only seen the possibility of blood and pain held over people's heads – not that I'm a huge fan of any of it. But I just met General Kir a few of weeks ago."
"I see. Sorry you had to see that."
"And I'm sorry I didn't try to help you, or the Doctor."
She blew air through pursed lips. "It was you against the General, plus two more agents. You'd have lost the fight, and they'd have known you're not like them. This way, we still have an ally."
Pym sighed with relief. "So glad you get that."
"Yeah, that General, he's a piece of work… best not piss him off until you're sure you can win."
"I agree. I never thought he was a fluffy bunny, but I had no idea he was… like that."
"D'you reckon he's really like that, or was he just trying to scare the Doctor?" she asked, stepping inside.
"I don't know," Pym told her. "Either way, though, I like to think he just signed his own death warrant."
"Well, at least his defeat warrant," Martha said, as Pym slid the gate shut. "Anyway, thank you, Agent Pym."
"You're welcome. Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, actually. They've had me here all day… I just ate a bit of breakfast this morning, before you came and got me."
"I'll get you a meal in the next hour," he said.
She nodded, then sat down on her new bed, as he walked away.
Ugh, poor Martha. Thoughts?
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