CHAPTER 7

Gritty scratching sounds dragged around Martha's boot soles as she swept shards of a shattered porcelain mug into a dustpan across the varnished kitchen floorboards. "I told you that we weren't having sex!"

Sam sat at the kitchen table, sipping hot chocolate from a mug as soothing vapor wafted toward his nose, "Then why all the secrecy?"

Knowing how it would seem to have brought a patient home—especially a male patient who appeared to be her age—Martha muttered under her breath, "Not now, Sam."

Derisively scoffing, Sam reminded Martha, "You walked in on me and Chris while we were having sex. You can have as much sex as you like! I'm not judging you."

Martha jabbed the broom into the floor, gritting her teeth in frustration. "We were not having sex! I could have just gone to his place if that were the case."

"Well, he was barefoot when I saw him. Guys don't take off their shoes in a woman's bedroom for relaxation." He shrugged, "Well, not in that way."

Martha's knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip on the broom. "If you really must know, he was getting changed!"

Sam's suspension of disbelief had now been stretched to its limit. "Just getting changed? You have to admit, that does sound a little shady."

Martha sighed, "Shut up, Sam! If I was going to lie about it, I could work up a better alibi than that. Like I said, at the very least, I'd sneak him out of the house."

Sam asked, "Well, you nearly did. You were adamant about not letting me into your room. Don't get me wrong, he's hot, but I'm not jealous. I won't hit on him."

Martha stood the broom and dustpan in the cupboard, slammed it shut, and flicked her hand dismissively to cut off any further comment from Sam.

She folded her arms on the windowsill overlooking the alley with her back facing the table as a setting sun glistened on her face.

The chirping of nearby sparrows soothed Martha as she closed her eyes and rubbed the base of her neck.

Sam continued, "I mean it. Sex or not – it's none of my business. It seems strange that we suddenly have this boundary after being so close under the same roof. How long have we shared gossip about who we date or sleep with? You've given me so much advice over the years. I don't take our bond for granted."

Martha rested her lumbar against the windowsill, "You're right. Sam, I've just had a lot happening because work has been a chore, and," she trailed off while walking toward a brown leather chair in front of the white-rendered brick wall.

Sam shook his head in anticipation, "and?"

She answered the question with clenched eyes, "I think I got fired."

His chair kicked back as he stood in haste, "Oh shit!"

Martha's voice whimpered, "I don't know yet, but I know it's not good."

Sam walked toward her, asking gently, "What happened?"

She frowned, "If I promise to give you the details after today, can I hold off on an answer? Like I said, I have a lot happening. Please?"

Sam's expression softened, "If there's anything I can do, tell me? I do mean anything, hun."

Martha stood with her head tilted and arms extended. Sam stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She sighed, "Thank you, Sam."

They embraced for a brief moment before Sam loosened his grip, smirking playfully, "So, where is he now?"

Martha chuckled, imagining how Sam would react to her guest being both a patient and an alien. "Can we add that to the list of things to disclose later?"

"It better be spicy."

Martha winked, "You'll just have to use your imagination for now. He looks rather fine in leather pants."

"Is he wearing them now?"

Martha sighed, "No. Does a skin-tight suit do it for you?"

"I'll settle, I suppose."

UNIT

Madison entered the alabaster-walled boardroom, which offered a wall-length sunlit view of London. The rest of the room was lined with digital monitors. Doyle and Kate were seated at a large black oval table in the centre of a marble-floored room. They both stood in acknowledgment of Madison.

Kate nodded, "We appreciate you coming at such short notice, Madison. Please, sit down."

Madison sat on the opposite side, responding humbly, "Sorry for the rough dress code."

Her hair was casually styled, untied with a slight curl. Casually attired, Madison was dressed in an unzipped, hooded white puffer jacket over a round-neck oceanic blue top paired with black jeans and chunky black-and-white Alexander McQueen sneakers.

"Dress code can wait, Ms. Lu. When we said urgent, we meant it," Kate said as she sat down.

Doyle resumed his seat, "We wanted you here today, Madison, because we are very impressed with your performance in the field. You've been quite an asset."

Madison stroked her hair, "Thank you."

Doyle continued, "You're responsive, efficient, and, upon the unusual unfolding, you've always ensured that we are the first to know. UNIT is an organisation that values communication. Information is UNIT's best weapon. You've demonstrated an understanding of what that means."

Kate concurred, "UNIT is interested in extending your secondment with the serious possibility of becoming a fully-fledged member of UNIT. We understand, however, that you may want time to consider."

Madison was amused, shaking her head, "I shouldn't need more than a few seconds."

Doyle and Kate laughed collectively. Kate continued, "I had a feeling that arm twisting would not be on today's agenda. On that note, we have a new assignment for you. A very important one."

Madison sat forward, smiling. "Does it involve another uniform?"

Kate smiled, "Not this time."

The windows behind Kate gradually tinted charcoal black after she tapped her finger on a touchscreen panel embedded in the oval table.

A screen at the head of the room illuminated after Kate tapped her fingers on her laptop keyboard.

Kate projected a photo onto the screen, "This is Professor Angela Hirst, the Director at Lister Hospital in Hertfordshire." She tapped her keyboard again, and a second image appeared on the screen, "This, meanwhile, is Doctor Regis Jensen. He holds a senior role at the same hospital who answers directly to Hirst."

Doyle looked toward Madison, "Everything we are about to tell you is in the strictest confidence. These are two very dangerous given their likely responsibility for the emergence of the immortals."

Kate added, "If this sounds too much, tell us."

Kate continued, "We will provide you with a more comprehensive dossier on these two, in addition to our suspicions about them. Your assignment will involve undertaking surveillance on the pair. Learn what you can about suspicious movements, notable assets, extra-curricular interests, hobbies – anything you think would go toward building a case file on the pair. We want a comprehensive overview."

Doyle asked Madison, "I think you would agree that this task is suited to your talents, given your history of assisting surveillance with the police in the past. Plus, having served as our point of contact for the goings on at Metropolitan."

Madison smiled, "Definitely."

Kate agreed, "We concur. With that, to the finer details."

MARTHA'S APARTMENT

The Doctor sat at Martha's desk in her small, windowless study, guiding a cursor along the screen as he read a biographical history of Professor Angela Hirst. He rested his chin in his open palm, his eyes narrowing. Footsteps could be heard from behind, followed by a chair dragging across the carpet, "You know, you can join us for a break, mister." She leaned forward, looking at his chest, "I love the tie."

He remained fixated on the screen, "Something's missing," he muttered. "But what is it?"

Martha leaned in with elegant poise, crossing her right leg over her left, pointing her boot toes toward the Doctor. "How do you mean?"

His stare was vacant, thinking out loud. "It's airtight. Impossibly airtight. There are no flaws in Angela's story. She was a scholarship student at St. George University in the 1980s and graduated in the early 1990s. Then, became Director of Lister Hospital." He then looked at Martha, "You said she seemed off?"

Martha pursed her lips, "Not really. Not until now, that is. She seemed pretty together. Stoic, focused, made some great reforms. It's only lately that she has acted weird."

"Like what?"

Martha gazed to the ceiling, "She made this really awful joke. It wasn't even funny. Something about advancing the human race beyond its pitiful self."

"And you let that slide?"

"What was I meant to say? She can be very intimidating. You have to realise that this is a woman who I have just seen as an employee and Director. You couldn't have gotten me to listen to half of this two days ago."

The Doctor sat back, gazing at a collection of wall-mounted framed photos near the desk, featuring Martha, Sam, and several of their friends. "True. Then I guess we are both terribly behind the eight-ball, Martha."

Martha took the mouse and browsed through the Hertfordshire Hospital's website pages until she found the corporate profile for Regis Jensen, "If you can't get what you need from Angela, then judge her by the company she keeps."

His narrow gaze focused on the laptop screen, "Not bad. Not bad at all, Martha Jones." He leaned toward the laptop, reading his profile, "Specialises in genetics with experience in both the public and private sector. Has been a close acquaintance of Hirst for ten years, and dedicated his works to Braxiatel therapy following the passing of his wife during the 1990s due to neural complications." He sat back. "Of course! Someone she can control – someone who is in crisis!"

"Wrapped around her little finger," Martha nodded.

"Yyyep!," he co-signed Martha's point, using his right fist to punch the air.

"He's also written some research papers on Braxiatel therapy too."

"So, they knew your brother?"

The Doctor grimaced dubiously, "It doesn't make sense. I mean, Braxiatel was never a word on Earth in any language. I mean ever! Ever, ever, ever!"

"Nor is the word Timelord," Martha quirked her eyebrow.

"You do have a keen ear. Timelord is exactly what Angela called me at the hospital. She certainly knows about me. My next piece to place in this puzzle."

Martha nudged her boot toe against the Doctor's calf, "WE, actually. Remember, I'm now unemployed. That gives me plenty of spare time, Timelord."

"Smith and Jones definitely does have a ring to it, I must admit."

"It definitely does," Martha affirmed, leaning in as her eyes dived into his, "So, what is a Timelord?"

"That will need to wait for another time."

"Hmmm, no. I think it makes for a perfect drinking conversation. Let's go."

MEANWHILE

Regis strolled along the pond footbridge towards Hirst's grand staircase to her inner sanctum. Although Regis was more desensitised to the impossible space than Winslow had been the night before, he still couldn't deny the spatial anomalies surrounding him. Regis ascended the grand staircase, tightening the knot of his black tie at the collar of his white shirt beneath his grey suit before entering. Hirst sat serenely on a brown Japanese loquat bench, dressed in a blue kimono and black Roman sandal heels adorned with studs.

A sense of calm washed over Regis as the aroma of soft incense infused with charred chai wafted to his nostrils while he approached Hirst.

"So, our concerns about Miss Martha Jones weren't without merit," Hirst began.

Regis stood before her, "She seems most intrigued with the patient."

Hirst's stare was pointed with menace, "What of him?"

"I know as much as you. Two hearts, no name, no identity, no next of kin. Non-existent for all intents and purposes."

Hirst crossed her legs, adopting a meditative pose, "I'm not hearing a conclusion."

"Well, Martha certainly seems to have formed a bond. Though I see nothing more than a belated adolescent crush."

Her more mild-mannered expression took a chilly turn, "He is more than just a heartthrob for a millennial."

"How so?"

"He's a threat in a way that you couldn't imagine."

Regis chided beneath a snigger, "Then I say let the bitch dig her own grave."

Hirst's vocal tone turned acidic, "If only you truly knew! This man is dangerous. He could destroy everything we have worked for. So, instead of standing there all smug, get out there, find Jones, and bring me John Smith!"

Regis nodded, gripping his hands behind his back, "Yes, My Lady."

"Before you go, what of the test subjects?"

Regis stammered, "The Braxiatel therapy is showing mixed results, at best."

"Then, we need more test subjects. Winslow took some convincing, but he is on board with us. Don't muck this up. I'm heading to Hertfordshire. Keep me updated."

Regis swallowed deeply, "Yes, my Lady. I will proceed on both fronts, beginning with a house call at the Jones residence."