by Cour M.
“Oh, some good comes from age, you see?”
“Not much from what I gather, and this time I was sent to find you, so I did my best to post scouts on places that the TARDIS was said to be near.”
“Oh,” Twelve groaned, closing his eyes, “that damned greeter. Of course. After all, what did he have to be standing there for, because it’s not even the best place to hand out maps.”
“Yup, you’re getting sluggish in your old age.”
“No more old man jokes.”
“Of course there’s going to be more old man jokes.”
“Very well, but let’s be serious now. Why have you been looking after me?”
Mickey suddenly grew serious, and it had unnerved the Doctor.
“Mickey, what is it?”
“It’s a delicate business. Even I know that, so Doctor, now it’s your turn to be brave.”
“I’m always brave.”
“But still not humble, I see.”
“Oh you know what I mean. And no, still not humble.”
“Doctor,” Mickey took a step forward and placed his hand on the Doctor’s arm, “I need you to be brave, in a way that is hard, even for you. This is about your past.”
The Doctor’s eyes turned hollow. Something about the way that Mickey spoke made the Doctor grow cold in his boots.
“Mickey,” Twelve asked gently, “Why do you have me afraid now?”
“Because you know how much I hate looking serious,” Mickey said, and he sat down, took out a flask and drank from it.
“Then what is it? Who asked you to come looking for me?”
“What happened to your last companion?”
“Mickey, why did you come?”
“What happened to your last companion?!” Mickey asked more forcefully.
“She died.”
Mickey’s eyes turned to stone.
“Well,” Mickey said, “did you do everything to prevent it?”
Twelve looked at him with menace.
“Of course I did!”
“Well, with what I come with, I expect you to do your best again. Thank god Martha got away from you when she did.”
“Then what is it?”
“I was sent from a mutual acquaintance of ours. You know him by the name of Wilfred.”
In hearing the name, Twelve understood why Mickey was apprehensive, and he sat down on a seat opposite Mickey, preparing himself for whatever would come.
“Wilfred sent you? How did he even contact you?”
“With Torchwood, we are not exactly unreachable, you know. We don’t have a TARDIS that we are always flying away in.”
“Is Wilfred all right? I’m not too late to help him, am I?”
“When he came to me, he already had the problem. And you’re the only one who can help him.”
Mickey stood up and looked down at Twelve.
“Doctor, he needs you to save his granddaughter. He needs you to save Donna.”
Chapter 2
The Second Odd Couple
Marinus Planet
N-Space (1)
January 2013
Through the rubble of battle, Martha Jones raced along, carrying her gun protectively in front of her as she escaped being crushed by the falling debris. For the last hour, Cardiff, which was the Earth’s bay station settlement that was established on the planet, had been suddenly under attack by cybermen, and every person who was able to bear arms was called to defend it.
“Thank god Mickey is not here,” Martha groaned to herself as she placed herself behind a fallen bit of ceiling, and shooting at the cybermen along with a couple of soldiers.
“You care more for your husband than you do for us right now,” the soldier replied.
“Yeah, get married eventually,” Martha exclaimed, shooting a cyberman with her laser gun as it fell down dead, only to be followed by others that they continued to shoot at, “you’ll be happy if your wife spares you a second thought every now and again.”
“Have you thought of something yet!” The other soldier cried out, to which Martha could not help but groan inwardly, for she didn’t know why people always expected her to have all the answers. Yet as they backed up against a set of cabinets, Martha came to revelation.
“These cybermen come from Mondas, right?”
“They should!”
“Right and by the looks of them,” she recalled from her research, “they look like the models that are running some of the older programming. Well, there was one weakness of theirs that is often recorded.”
“What is it?”
Rather than tell them, Martha decided to act rather than think.
“Cover me,” she cried as she rushed forward and slid behind some cabinets as more cybermen entered, shooting at them.
“Resistance is lethal,” the cybermen kept chanting, “surrender and you will be upgraded.”
They continued to fire and the soldiers were outnumbered as Martha looked through the cabinets and was happy to find a nicely sized container of bleach and cleanser. She rushed back to the soldiers, took out a mini-grenade, and attached it to the containers.
“Take cover,” Martha cried as she hurled the cleaning fluid containers in the air, the grenades ticking away and just as it reached the last tick, it fell on the ground at the feet of cybermen, and they all were demolished.
When they were all decimated, Martha and the other two soldiers looked at the product of her actions.
“No bloody way!” One of them cried.
“Now you’re a believer,” she replied wittily, then she turned on her wrist communicator to her lips and spoke into it. “General Sidney,” she called, “General Sidney, do you read me, sir?”
There was a second’s silence, and Martha was almost left to assume that General Sidney was dead, when she heard breathing.
“I’m here, Doctor Jones,” General Sidney said, “just under fire.”
“General, these cybermen are still running on older programming, giving them the same weaknesses as Model 4 cybermen.”
“You can’t be serious?!”
“I am. Sir, we need all the cleaning fluid in the settlement brought to the front lines,” she demanded, taking more cleanser from the cabinets with the other soldiers. “Attach enough grenades to them, make bombs and the cybermen will be depleted. I repeat—”
“I’ve heard you, Doctor. Well, this is a shot in the dark.”
“Shot in the dark indeed, over and out,” Martha closed her communicator.
“Do you really think that we will be able to have cleaning fluid on hand like that?” The other soldier laughed.
“Cynicism never looks good when you are running out of options,” Martha sneered, “though I admit, to resort to this, yes, we have really reached the eleventh hour, now haven’t we?”
Now with a stronger ability to defend themselves, Martha and the other two soldiers advanced, entered another room, created more household bombs with them and bombarded the next oncoming onslaught as they reached the second landing of the settlement. However, with every room they were able to successfully defend and remain in, Martha felt their luck slipping. They were losing this battle, and if they did, then the rest of the universe would eventually be in peril—again.
Not so many years ago, she was in a similar position, she thought, as she was making another bleach bomb by a janitorial cabinet, where she had to be put in the position of threatening to blow up a planet to save the universe. Yet now such measures were out of her hands, and she was glad of it. She looked out of the window, and down below, in a courtyard, she saw cybermen advancing on some women and children who had not been able to take refuge in the second level. She came to a decision. Looking around at her fellow soldiers who were preoccupied with shooting the cybermen who were coming in the other direction, she left two bombs behind them to use when they were ready, then she placed some in her bag. She ran out of the double doors, jumped down the steps as two cybermen we
re walking up them, raised out her gun with a bottle of cleanser in front of it and shot the bottle at them. It exploded and the cybermen fell down the steps, paralyzed.
Jumping over them, Martha rushed down the last bit of the steps, turned on the timer and hurled both bombs at the unit of cybermen that were pursuing the families. It exploded and Martha turned, ducking for cover and placing her hand over her face just as she heard a familiar sound coming from the explosion.
VWORP! VWORP!
With two bombs still in her bag, Martha quite forgot herself, as that familiar sound often made her do.
That was the sound of hope.
True hope.
He had come for them.
As the smoke cleared, Martha saw the familiar rectangular outline, the sign saying ‘Police Box’, and the light that came from within—the blinding and beautiful light that was there when you opened the doors. It was the TARDIS, and it only belonged to one man in the universe.
“Doctor!” Martha cried, rushing forward, “Doctor!”
In the blinding white light, the figure of a man emerged and then he stepped down, his form becoming more and more visible and his face eventually was discernible.
“Martha Jones!” The man cried, rushing forward, giddily, “As I live and breathe!”
Martha stopped in her tracks.
This man was not the Doctor. Not at all.
From his hair that was parted to the side, to his quirkier features, to his vest—and bowtie. The Doctor never wore a bow tie. Well, except for when he wore a tuxedo.
“What have you done with the Doctor!” She cried, taking up her gun again, hurling the bomb of cleaning fluid from her hands at another unit of cybermen who were rushing at them, where it blew up behind this strange and eccentric man. After the smoke cleared, the man grinned and laughed.
“You knew about cleaning fluid!” He cried, “of course you would. Martha Jones could think of anything, eh?”
Martha then aimed her gun at the bowtie-wearing man.
“What have you done with the Doctor?”
“Oh, I see,” the man laughed, twirling around, “yes, new face, it stumps all. And blast it, you’re carrying a gun. Then again, that is perhaps my fault, isn’t it? I’ll apologize for that later, but for the moment, Martha, excuse me.”
He reached into the TARDIS, and pulled out a microphone that was attached to the consul unit. Raising it to his lips, he roared into it and his voice was so loud that it could have reached the far corners of the settlement.
“Hello cybermen invaders!” He cried, “Now I know that you are in this nasty business of storming a settlement for whatever reason that you are desperately clinging to, however insignificant it is to anything whatsoever, but here’s the thing. I am the Doctor, and the Doctor is here!”
When hearing him say that, Martha could not help but look up, despite the pain it was causing to her ears and gasp.
What did he mean that he was the Doctor? Of course he wasn’t, so what was he playing at? The Doctor had different hair, and more rounded face, a more sensuous figure and suit, converse sneakers, and a long coat—Janis Joplin had given him that coat. Then again, she had seen it herself before, and the Doctor could change if need be, he could regenerate, and no! No, it could not be… but could it?
“Now,” the Timelord who claimed himself to be the Doctor continued to speak into his microphone, “Cybermen of the planet Mondas, I know that you all keep detailed records of your greatest adversaries, and since I know that I have no choice but to be on that list, please feel free to take the moment to search through your data archives that are in those widget brains of yours—and by widget brains, I mean borrowed brains, and see if you can remember me? Can you?”
The man then raised up his arms and turned around, and Martha saw how the cybermen all stopped to look at this man. This strange and extraordinary man.
Only one Timelord could make them stop as they did.
“Ah, moment of silence, cybermen,” the man continued, “blank looks, I do so hate a blank look. Yet with you, what can be expected, I suppose? Yet you know what to expect from me, don’t you? Intimidated yet, cybermen? Now, I could end you all here and now, but today, I am feeling particularly generous—what can I say, you caught me on a Thursday, and I like Thursdays. Cybermen, cease and desist now, return to whatever quadrant vomited you out of it, and I shall let you go in peace. Yet continue to remain attacking Marinus, and I would have no choice but to stop you. And really, boys, how many times have I stopped you? Go on, and count the days! And when you do, then you will see, that you really don’t want another day added to that number!”
Whether he was the Doctor or not, he was there to save the day, and he had the TARDIS. Therefore, Martha stood up, turned away from the Doctor and gave him cover.
“Thank you,” the man who called himself the Doctor said to her over his shoulder, “if you had continued doubting me, I would have thought you were a zygon dressed as Martha for a moment.”
“Don’t ever mention my name and zygon in the same sentence,” Martha quipped.
“Yes, of course, of course,” The Doctor laughed, “Same old Doctor Jones.”
“Ah, and he knows my name,” she retorted, “Ah, now that really is rich.”
“Rich indeed,” the Doctor said, “now excuse me while I save the day.”
“Go on then,” Martha replied, throwing another bit of cleaning fluid and then shooting it at a cyberman as he neared them, to which he combusted.
“Good shot!” The Doctor declared.
“The Doctor would have hated me holding a gun,” Martha intoned, “Are you sure you are the same Timelord?”
“Different face, different rules,” The Doctor said, raising up the sonic screwdriver that made Martha do a double take. When she saw it, the Doctor smirked.
“Told you,” he replied archly.
“You may have different rules, but I still have one. You call yourself the Doctor. Then you need to earn that title.”
“Well then,” The Doctor smirked once more, enjoying her testiness, “I better start again.”
He turned on his sonic screwdriver and then raised the microphone to his mouth again, speaking into it.
“Dear cybermen!”
His voice raised up into the heavens and while the battle waged on, Martha had the funny feeling that all were still attentive.
“You are all still walking about, shooting things with your arm pistol thing-a-magigs, which means that you didn’t take my offer. It’s all fine then, because truth is, I was never fully going to let you off easy anyway. After all, I know where you blokes come from, don’t I? And frankly you never disappoint to disappoint. So I tell you now, that you truly have forgotten the situation,” he continued, pointing his sonic at a window and it blasted over as it came crashing down on a unit of cybermen who were charging Martha as she shot down another one. Martha, unable to resist, looked back at him and smirked, despite herself. “And the situation is as it always is, which is that whenever you see a blue police box appearing out of nowhere, you immediately ought to always surrender, because there is one thing that always happens. There is always one thing that shall always walk out of it. And that is a madman—who always has a planet who conveniently owes him a favor.”
The Doctor raised his sonic into the microphone, it created a loud sound, and Martha had realized that it must have been a sonic signal. Suddenly from out of the atmosphere, three large spaceships appeared, creating a loud noise. The bottom of their shoots opened, and released a yellow sort of precipitation in the air that fell over the settlement. It spattered on top of Martha, but it did her and the other soldiers no harm. However, when it hit the cybermen, they all began to go haywire, shut down and malfunction completely.
“They’re dying,” Martha cried, looking all around her as the yellow rain began to demolish the cybermen, “they’re all dying!”
“One thing that is often too forgotte
n,” The Doctor said behind her, “the great weakness of the cybermen. In this case, it was taken and made into a liquid form completely harmless to the human skin, but still strong enough to be potent: gold.”
Martha turned back around as the Doctor began to walk toward her, slowly.
Feeling as if she was in the midst of a dream, all she could do was stand there, her gun hanging at her side, and watch him through the droplets of gold. A new face, a new man, could it be? There was a sense of magic about him—and it was different. Perfect though, even though it was different. With every second that he walked up to her, she began to adapt herself to the reality of the matter, until he reached within a few feet of her. His warm and lively eyes smiled at her as he raised out his hand for her to take.
“You have to trust me Martha, I’m real.”
Acting on faith, as she always had no choice but to, Martha took his hand, and it was encouragement enough. Smiling like a giddy schoolboy, he pulled her along and into the TARDIS, where he closed the door behind them.
As ever, there it was, bigger on the inside. And it was the proof she needed, for she released his hand and began to run around the main command room, looking at the consul and seeing how similar it was—except for the walls, which had a different design to it. Before, it had a grunge look, but now it had an art deco look to it, or something else entirely. She ran her hands all over every button, marveling at it, then she looked up and twirled around, over and over, amazed at the feeling she got by being in the TARDIS again—until she remembered herself.
And until she remembered that she was being watched.
Composing herself, she turned around and faced this new man who called himself the Doctor.
“Still do not believe, Martha Jones,” he smiled.
For some reason, Martha lost any apprehension, smirked and felt like being terribly charming.
“I’ll be the judge of when I want to believe or not,” she chuckled.
“And you are the judge now,” he replied, equally as charming and engaging, taking a few steps forward, “So, am I real?”