The Dream Weavers

DOCTOR WHO: The Dream Weavers

CHAPTER ONE

Martha looked over at the Doctor, standing beside the console. His face, in the green glow of the column, seemed creased with worry. “What is it, Doctor?” She asked.

He looked up at her, and for an instant, she caught a glimpse of the fear in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that boyish grin she was coming to know so well.

“What’s What?” He asked innocently–too innocently.

“Oh come on,” she chided, “there’s something wrong, and you don’t want me to know about it, is that it? I’m a big girl, Doctor. If I can face the Judoon on the moon, alien Elizabethan witches and Daleks during the depression, what more is there to be afraid of?”

For just a moment, the Doctor simply looked at her. In the space of his heartbeats, the Doctor’s eyes became suddenly filled with a seemingly infinite emptiness…then, it was gone. “Right, then!” He shouted. Let’s see just how scary, scary can be, eh?”

The way the Doctor looked at Martha, made her shiver–his look for once, seemed alien and…almost insane.

As if sensing her sudden discomfort, the Doctor  grinned mischeviously and said, “You aren’t scared of being scared, are you, Martha? You humans love being scared: horror movies, roller coasters, bungee jumping, the deep South, Edgar Allen Poe–now there was a genius– the Spice Girls…”

Throwing off his melancholy like he would toss aside his long coat, the Doctor began playing his hands over the console switches with a flourish, muttering to himself in some language Martha had never heard before–it sounded almost like he was swearing under his breath–and enjoying it.

Suddenly, the Tardis gave a great lurch, throwing Martha against the control room’s metal railing.

The Doctor merely griped the edge of the console with one hand, and aimed the sonic screwdriver at some other part, with his other hand. With a sonic buzzing, the screwdriver served to help the Tardis right herself.

“Doctor!” Martha exclaimed, “When are you going to let me drive this thing?”

Giving  her a wry look, the Doctor muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Back seat driver.”

Martha shook her head. “Sometimes I think you just make this all up as you go along–that you have no more of a clue how to steer this thing, than I have.”

The Doctor was staring at his view screen intently and didn’t answer.

 She leaned over his shoulder, but couldn’t decipher the complex patterns on the screen. “What is it, Doctor? What’s wrong?”

He looked up into her eyes with a deep expression, his eyes seeming to be ancient and…somewhere behind that…frightened.

Shuddering involuntarily, Martha backed off slightly.

Sighing, the Doctor placed his hand on her arm. He gave her his most reassuring grin.

But, Martha wasn’t buying it. “What is it? It’s something really bad, isn’t it? Something you don’t want me to know about, yeah?”

Regarding his friend silently for a moment, then shaking himself out of his temporary melancholy, the Doctor smiled and said,“Nahh–no worries. Just a glitch in the time-space vortex, I’m sure.”

Returning the gesture, holding his arm, Martha gazed into his eyes. “I’m your friend, aren’t I, Doctor? I mean, that’s why I’m here, right? Or am I just like some stray cat you found in some alley somewhere and took in for some comfort? Because,” She said forcefully–giving him her most determined stare–“Because if that’s the case, then you might as well take me home, right now.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, in injured surprise. “A stray cat? Martha! You were never…”

His voice trailed off, and, without warning, he raced around and slapped the Tardis’ hand brake. “Right then! We’ll park here, in the Atnaf Nebula for a bit, and have a little chat, eh?”

He strode around to the console room chair and flung himself on it. Patting the empty spot beside him, the Doctor commanded, “Alright. Sit.”

Martha boggled at him. “What?”

 Sighing, he said, more gently, “Please, Martha. Come and sit down by me.”

Seated side by side on the chair, the Doctor’s trainers propped up in front of him, Martha waited. The Doctor stuck his hands behind his head. “Right. Where to begin, eh?”

 Martha said, “Well, my Gran always said to me, ‘start at the beginning, go all the way to the end, and stop.’”

The Doctor started, and then gave her a delighted grin. “Your Gran said that? Very wise woman, your ol’ Grandmother.”

 Sighing he added, “And, she’s right. So, here’s what we’re up against, Martha: Mind control. Not just mind control, but your whole perception of reality–beings that can shape your reality, change it into anything they want, and the thing is…you’d never know. It would all seem as real to you as you and me sitting here now, talking.”

Staring at the console room ceiling he said, “There’s these creatures, called the Haneysbyrds. They are ancient, from the dawn of time. For millions and millions of years, they kept to their home planet, in the farthest part of the galaxy. They lived in peace and harmony. They had never known hardship or suffering of any sort. ” The Doctor sighed sadly, “They were a gentle and noble race, one known throughout the stars for their wisdom”.

Pausing a moment, dredging up old memories, the Doctor continued, “Then, there was a war. And these creatures wiped out the invaders–but, in the ensuing bloodshed, they also learned to hate, and learned to plot and to torture and…well, they made your Spanish Inquisitors look like little girls at a tea party. –they took all the bad characteristics of those who made war on them, and it changed their entire race. And what made things worse, is that they also gained the technology to build their own ships.”

Getting up, he paced the floor in front of her, running his hands through his hair. “They began conquering other planets. One by one, each one became their slaves–or worse. They became their play things–toys to move about, like a living board game. Then, they picked on Galifrey. Well…we weren’t having any. So, there was a war, and the Haneysbyrds lost. They were banished into the heart of hollow planet–there to spend the rest of their days alone, in the darkness”.

 But,” the Doctor said, flopping back down again beside her, “there was a tale that two of the leaders got away. They fled in a stolen ship into the darkest part of the universe, and no trace of them was ever found. ”

 The Doctor looked at Martha grimly. “Until now.”

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Are you with us, Miss Jones?” A stern male voice harshly demanded. Martha woke with a start–she must have been daydreaming. That’s odd. There she was, in the gleaming sterile operating theater, Doctor James beside her, holding out his hand. “Are you going to make the first cut, or am I?”

“W-what?” Martha stammered. “Oh, come now, Miss Jones, I realize this is the first time you’ve had to open a live patient, but we really must move on. If you can’t do it, I’ll have to step in–but I’m afraid that will have an effect on your standing, as I’m sure you are well aware.” There was a pause and Martha shook herself out of it. “Yes, right. Of course, Dr. James.” It wasn’t like her to freeze up like this. She’d been looking forward to this, her first live patent. She took the scalpel from Dr. James and looked down–froze again, this time in horror. There, lying strapped to the table, wide awake, was the Doctor.

He was strapped down to the table, wearing nothing but a white surgical gown. His mouth was covered with a breathing tube, but Martha could see–he was very much awake. The Doctor’s eyes bore into hers, as if trying to project a mental message. ‘Yeah,’ she thought, ‘get me outta’ this!’ She looked into his eyes, drawn into those dark pools that, despite his young appearance, seemed so ancient and wise…and, a bit worried, too, at the moment. She stared into those eyes, drawn into them.

“Miss Jones!” Dr. James called. Yet, suddenly, his voice seemed to come from a great distance. The sterile walls began to blur. Martha took a deep breath and quickly slashed down with the scalpel.

The Doctor bounded up–and suddenly they were in a dank, damp dungeon-like room. The walls were gray and mouldy slime dripped down the walls. The operating theater and people all melted away into mist, and were gone. A dim bulb in the ceiling shone down on Martha and the Doctor, standing side by side. He turned to her, his face grim. Grasping her shoulders he looked into her eyes, “Are you alright, Martha?” Breathing heavily with fear, she said, “Yeah. How ‘bout you? I could have done you in back there!”

The Doctor grinned at her. “Nahhh–you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I knew you’d figure it out.” Martha looked at him skeptically. “That’s not what it looked like to me. “ The Doctor chose to ignore that remark. He wandered around the room. “Thing is, Miss Jones, looks can be deceiving.” Suddenly, the Doctor’s image blurred. Martha backed away. For in the Doctor’s place, now stood a six-foot high skeletal creature, with big eyes like limpid black pools.

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

The face–if one could call it that, was shaped a bit like a giant rabbit’s skull, without a nose. The mouth, while humanoid in appearance, had two fangs projecting from it. Martha backed against the slimy walls as the thing spoke in a rasping voice. “As I said, looks can be deceiving.”

“What’s going on? Who are you? Where’s the Doctor–and how the hell did I get here?” Martha demanded. The figure blurred again, and there was the Doctor standing before her. “Relax, Martha. It really is me.” She shook her head, unwilling to believe this…thing. He said, more gently. “Really, it is okay–I didn’t mean to scare you.” He held out a small silver case, the size of an I-Pod.

Martha watched skeptically, as the Doctor ran his finger over the miniature screen on the device. His shape blurred again, and Martha found herself looking at a middle-aged human male, balding and slightly overweight, with a jolly expression on his face. The image blurred again and he was once again the Doctor she knew. He walked up to her and smiled like a kid who’d been given the key to a candy store. “There, you see? No harm done.” Martha slapped him.

“Ow! What’d you do that for?” The Doctor exclaimed, holding a hand to his sore cheek, a hurt expression in his eyes. “That’s for scaring the living daylights out of me! What the devil is going on, Doctor?” Martha cried.

The Doctor’s features softened as he looked into on his friend’s frightened eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I didn’t.” Pocketing the device in his hand, he gestured to a hard wooden bench against one wall. He walked over and plopped down on it. Still not convinced, Martha just stood there with her arms folded, looking cross. The Doctor patted the bench beside him. “Come on. As I mentioned back in the Tardis, I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

Martha eyed him skeptically. “About what? About you changing your appearance on some…some…whim, or about me nearly doing the old slice and dice on you?” The Doctor merely raised an eyebrow and nodded to the bench. “Please, Martha?” He asked quietly. “We need to talk.” Martha sighed. “Isn’t that usually the woman’s line?” She asked. The Doctor gave her a baffled look. “Sorry?” She merely shook her head, chuckling, “Oh never mind.” She sat down beside him.

The Doctor put on his glasses. He got his face up close to hers and Martha tensed. Gently, he whispered, “It’s alright, I just want to scan your brain, make sure there’s no residual effects. Trust me. You’ll not feel a thing, I promise.” Martha nodded and closed her eyes. Lightly placing the tips of his fingers on her temples, the Doctor checked her over. Straightening up, he took off his glasses, beaming at her, “Nope. All gone. No more visions, I promise–well, for a while, anyway.”

“Well, that’s reassuring…I think. So, what’s with your little toy?” She looked around at their grim surroundings. “And, more to the point, where are we?” The Doctor leaned against the damp wall and looked at her. “What’s the last thing you remember? Think, Martha!”

Martha closed her eyes. “You got some sort of distress signal–no, wait, you’d been talking about this race that your people fought, and banished to some planet somewhere–but two got away…right?” She asked hopefully. The Doctor nodded. “Yes, go on…” Still concentrating, Martha said, “So, right after that, there was this distress signal, and you locked the Tardis onto it, we landed somewhere, you opened the door…” She shook her head, “I think there was this big flash from the console….and…” She gave him a blank look. “Sorry Doctor, that’s all I remember. What happened?”

He frowned. “The Haneysbyrds. Somehow they managed to manipulate the sub-atomic particles in the air, right after we’d landed. Gave the poor ol’ Tardis a case of indigestion–and, steered us off slightly off course, in the process. Sub-atomic manipulation can do your head in, a bit, I’m afraid–if you’re human. You passed out temporarily. They grabbed me, and then you…” He clenched his fist and his eyes darkened with anger. “Then they decided right off to have a little game–starting with you.”

Martha didn’t like the sound of this. “You mean they were messing with my head?” She managed a grin, though at heart she was still feeling a little shaky inside. She almost felt she’d been violated. The Doctor touched her arm. “You were unconscious, you were hardly in a position to resist them.” Martha smiled thinly, “They sort of brainwashed me while I was out–what? For fun? That’s just..sick. Sticking his hands in his pockets, the Doctor sighed. “Yeah, that’s what they do, mess with people’s heads purely for entertainment’s sake–though, you know, you’d think an intelligient race like that, would have at least invented television, but really, don’t worry, Martha, you’re fine–no side effects in your case. It’s gone now. I’ve checked.”

Martha sighed. “That’s a relief. I thought I was ready to be sectioned.” She leaned closer and whispered, “So what’s that thing-a-ma-bob do, then?”

The Doctor reached into his pocked and pulled out the little gadget, showing it to Martha. “This ‘thing-a-ma-bob’, as you call it,” he said with a mischievous grin, “is a frequency illusionary refractor.” She looked at the device. “Looks like an I-Pod, to me. So it, what, changes your appearance at the push of a button? Very handy if you’re going to a fancy dress party.”

The Doctor chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it would be. Hadn’t thought of that. I just thought if we’re going to deal with mind-altering aliens, that maybe two can play the same game, eh?” He gave her a lopsided grin and handed her the device. “Here, you try it.” Martha took the device in her palm.

“What’s it gonna’ do to me, Doctor?” She wondered. The Doctor shook his head. “Nothing harmful, and the effects themselves don’t last long. It’s just going to change your perceptions of things–erm, let me put it this way. You’ve heard of those virtual reality games, that make you feel like you’re experiencing the real thing, yes?” Martha nodded. The Doctor slipped his glasses back on, continuing, “Well, this is similar to that. You don’t change–“ “My perceptions, do!” She exclaimed. He flashed Martha a dazzling smile and gave her a quick hug. “Oh, I do like the way you think, Martha Jones.”

Adjusting a control on the little device he said, “Now concentrate. Think of something or someone. Anything at all–besides yourself.” Martha closed her eyes. The Doctor placed the tip of her finger on the miniature screen, and in seconds, Martha blurred.

Sitting in her place was the image of William Shakespeare! The Doctor fished a mirror out of his pocket. Shakespeare looked at himself in amazement. “I don’t feel any different!” He boomed out. “Oh, is that my voice? Do I really look and sound like Will?” He felt his face, and drew back, puzzled. “That’s odd,” he said, “I have a beard and all that, but, it still feels like my own face, when I touch it.So, underneath, I’m really the same–but a few of our senses are telling us different, yeah?”

The Doctor said, “Isn’t that what I just told you? Mind you, it really wouldn’t work well at a party–the effect tends to only last a few minutes, and only has a range of 50 meters.” Martha giggled. “In other words, don’t take this to a party if you’re naked.” She took her finger and touched the screen again. The image blurred, and Shakespeare dissolved into Martha.

The Doctor looked a bit put out. “Shakespeare? Why him?” Martha smiled slyly, “Well…despite the bad breath, poor bathing habits and all, still, he was rather handsome.” The Doctor rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Humans!” Just then, a bright flash of light lit up the room. The Doctor and Martha had to shade their eyes from the glare. Martha nudged him. “Looks like we’ve got company, Doctor.” “Yes, I can see that.” He said shortly. And the “company” was pointing what appeared to be some sort of very lethal looking gun at them.

CHAPTER FOUR

As the glare died away, Martha could see their visitors, and abruptly had to stifle the overwhelming urge to burst out laughing. She felt the Doctor nudge her in the ribs. “Steady on,” he whispered, “remember what I said. Looks can be deceiving, you know.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You mean they don’t really look like that?” The Doctor shrugged slightly. “Well…yes. They do, actually–but I assure you, those cellular disrupters they are holding are quite deadly, so…” he added hopefully, “steady on–try not upset them. They’re very sensitive creatures.”

Despite the deadly armaments, Martha was having a hard time taking her captors seriously. That was because their captors looked very much like two eight-foot high white chickens.

The creature’s arms and legs, though feather-covered, were humanoid in appearance, but their bodies more closely resembled that of your average earth chicken. Like their arms, the face was humanoid, leathery and pale, but with a small pointed beak, where lips would be. The top of their heads were covered with long elegant tendrils of white feathers in place of hair. Adding to the strangeness, was the fact they the two were wearing finely embroidered cloaks, and their feet were encased in intricately woven slippers, of some satiny material. Their big dark eyes seemed lively and intelligent, but their faces were decidedly bored.

The one on the right spoke first, gesturing with his gun to Martha. “The female will come with us.” The voice was quite masculine, surprisingly deep. The Doctor started forward, “No!” He cried. The creature on the left fired a blue light into the Doctor, and with a strangled cry, he crumpled to the ground.

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

Kneeling beside the Doctor, Martha yelled, “You didn’t have to do that!” She checked him—both hearts feebly beating, thank goodness. “It was merely a stun setting,” the male creature said coldly, “we need him alive–for now.”

Standing over her, the oversized bird creature poked her in the back of the head with his gun. Martha winced. “Ouch! Watch that!” As she was pulled bodily to her feet, Martha cast a worried glance at the Doctor. “So, he’s going to be okay, yeah?” The creature didn’t respond as he dragged her towards the centre of the room. “Okay, okay, I’m coming! You don’t have to treat me this way!” She protested. A bright light filled the centre of the floor, and the three of them vanished.

Groaning, the Doctor came awake gradually. “Feed me another grape, matron.” he mumbled. He sat up, suddenly aware of his surroundings. “Martha?” He called–only to have his voice dully echoing back to him in the empty chamber.

Bounding up off the floor he paced to the centre of the room, looking around wildly. “Martha!” He yelled, knowing in his hearts it was a wasted effort. She was gone. Breathing heavily, he stood there helplessly, brown eyes reflecting doubt and frustration, his clenched fists hanging uselessly at his sides.

Martha found herself standing alone in the Tardis’ control room. She stood there a full ten seconds, stunned, before she snapped to and paced over to the console. She was about to push a button for the computer screen, but something stopped her. It was a full-size holographic image of the Doctor.

Appearing on the opposite side of the console, the Doctor stood there in his usual brown suit and scruffy white trainers, brown tie slightly askew. The image spoke to her. “Emergency protocol number three hundred and seventy-eight. Martha, if you are seeing this, it means that I’ve been captured and cannot get back to the Tardis. The Tardis has a homing beacon that will take her directly to me. All you have to do, Martha, is press the little purple button next to the computer screen. The Tardis will do the rest. And, Martha,” He smiled, “be quick about it. Please. My life–and possibly yours, depends on this.”

The image faded as quickly as it came. Martha nodded. “Yeah, I can do this.” She spotted the small purple button and reached over to press it. Then stopped.

“Wait a minute.” She muttered. “If the Tardis can home in on him, why didn’t he use it before when…” She remembered that the Doctor had put a mental block on her, to help her overcome the false images those creatures liked to create in her head. “Alright!” She said firmly, “This isn’t real. None of this is real. I’m not in the Tardis, there’s no homing button, no 3-D Doctor. It’s all a big con, isn’t it?”

As she spoke, the Tardis control room blurred, and she found herself in a new place. Martha boggled at her surroundings. She was in a giant nursery, flanked by two huge Victorian dolls with evil grins. She heard a movement behind her, and stared, wide-eyed, as a giant sword-wielding toy solder came bounding up to her on a vicious looking black rocking horse.

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

Even though she knew in her heart, that it was an illusion–she hoped, Martha instinctively backed away from the soldier. But, the red soldier on the horse followed her movements, backing her up against the “nursery” door.

Not taking her eyes from the toy solder, whose painted smile leered at her wickedly, Martha frantically reached behind her to open the door. It was locked. The horse towered above her, casting a shadow over Martha’s perspiring face. She closed her eyes, willing this terrible vision to stop, but to no avail. Opening her eyes, she saw that the soldier was still there, slowly raising his sword. The gleaming metal blade seemed quite real. The soldier sitting stiffly, attired in bearskin helmet and gold braid, was staring sightlessly at her–through her.
Meanwhile, the two sinister dolls hovered there silently, waiting for the kill. Martha looked frantically around, but there seemed to be no escape for her. She started muttering, “Not real. It’s not real. This is not real, it’s a dream, just like the Doctor told me.” But the blade had already begun its decent.

Martha stood transfixed, watching the blade come down–and then something odd happened. The blade blurred, became indistinct. And then, it turned into a sonic screwdriver.

The horse faded into nothing and the solder became a familiar figure in a crumbled brown suit and trainers. Grinning, he patted her shoulder and said, jovially, “Hello, Martha! Glad you could join us!” He gently eased past her, “’Scuse’ me, just a sec.” Marta raised an eyebrow and watched the two dolls, which had begun to advance on them. “Take your time, Doctor. I’m sure our two dolly friends would love to have us for tea.” The Doctor looked behind him. “Oh, hullo. Sorry, can’t stay for tea, thanks.”

Turning back again, he pressed the device against the middle of the door. The screwdriver hummed and the door gave an audible click. Face alight with pleasure, the Doctor flourished the sonic screwdriver at her. “There, you see. The screwdriver is mightier than the sword!” The dolls blurred and became the two Hanesybyrds, reaching out for them. The Doctor pushed Martha through and bounded after her, slamming the door shut in their faces. The tip of the sonic once again glowed, as the Doctor locked the door from the outside.

The Doctor produced the little box from his pocket. “There, what’d I tell you? Handy little gadget, isn’t it?” Martha looked round. To her dismay, they seemed to be right back where they started–the dismal and damp concrete room.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

Martha stared bleakly at the room, while the Doctor busily ran his screwdriver over the place where the door had been–a door that had now, seemingly, vanished. “Doctor!” She called to him. He whirled around, alarmed. “You’re not going to slap me again, are you?” He asked warily. Seeing the look on his face, Martha couldn’t help but chuckle. “No. I’m sorry about that.” Smiling and crossing her fingers over her heart, she added, “I promise, no more slapping–unless you turn into a zombie and decide to crash the Tardis into a sun or something–no promises there, I’m afraid. You do that and I’ll slap you silly.”

The Doctor grinned boyishly at her and turned back to his task. “Well, I’ll just have to remember not to turn into a zombie, then, shan’t I?” Looking over his shoulder at her he said, “Blimey! It’s almost like traveling with somebody’s mother.” He gave a mock shudder. Finishing his task, he sat down on the hard wooden bench, crossing his long legs and slipping his hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. Martha sat down beside him.

“So now what?” She asked. The Doctor looked at her, puzzled. “Now what, what?” Martha frowned. “So now what do we do? We can’t stay in here forever. Where’s the Tardis? The real Tardis I mean, not the imaginary one?” The Doctor didn’t answer right off. Martha leaned towards him, concerned. “Doctor?” He looked at her with a troubled expression in his eyes. Hesitating slightly, as if unsure what to tell her, the Doctor looked at his friend for a long few seconds. Then he seemed to come to a decision. Sighing, he said quietly “I ‘m not entirely sure.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Martha looked at the Doctor with mild surprise. “Well, that’s comforting. You mean you and I are on the same playing field for once?” Sensing his dark mood, she nudged him, “Not much fun being clueless, is it, then? Now you know how your companions feel, yeah?” She smiled, trying to cheer him. “We could play a game of charades to pass the time…” The Doctor continued staring at the ceiling. “Noughts and crosses…oh, but I don’t have any chalk for that, do you?” She frowned. “Or we could bake us a nice lovely cake, yeah? With chocolate and arsenic, and we could use fireworks for candles…” “Umm–hmm.” The Doctor muttered. Then, without warning, he bounded up and began pacing the room.

He began running his fingers through his hair, thinking furiously. “I’m missing something here, Martha. I’m forgetting something very important–vitally important. Thing is, it was so long ago, so very long ago–I was only the equivalent of a human teenager then. The Hanesybyrds have a weakness–one very peculiar weakness…Arrgh!” He shouted at the ceiling, “Why can’t I remember?” He stopped dead and stared at Martha, still seated on the bench. “Cake with chocolate frosting sounds yummy, but, I’m allergic to arsenic, I’m afraid. It gives me hives something awful. And, I really hate charades.”

Just then, the light filled the room again. The Doctor backed away. “Well, that didn’t take them long.” He looked at Martha and muttered. “When I locked the doorway, they had to hotfoot it back to their teleporter. I suspect they aren’t, as the Americans would say, very happy little campers, right about now.” As if in answer, the air about them blurred. “Here we go again!” Martha sighed.

Sunlight played through a thick forest. They found themselves standing on the parapet of what seemed to be a log fort. Martha burst out laughing. The Doctor was no longer in his usual attire, but now wore fringed buckskins, moccasins and a coonskin cap–and he looked utterly ridiculous. He looked at her, “What?” She pointed at his head, giggling, “Who shot the moggy?”

The Doctor pouted for a second. Then he pointed at Martha, grinning. “I dunno’, have you seen your own attire?” He faked a bad American accent, “How ‘bout an ale, miss? And make it snappy, ey?” Her own attire appeared to have changed, as well, and now Martha seemed to be dressed as some sort of Colonial serving maid. She groaned. “If you start calling me a wench, I’ll…” The Doctor backed away slightly, in mock fear. “I know. You’ll slap me. Remember your promise.” She laughed. “Yeah but that was before…” Suddenly, there was a whizzing noise, followed by a loud thunk. The Doctor and Martha looked at the log wall, where a flaming Indian arrow had landed, right between where they were standing.

 

CHAPTER NINE

 

The Doctor Looked. There, emerging out of the woods and charging across the open meadow of tall grass, in front of the fort, was a hoard of white clad French soldiers and half-naked Native American warriors. They ran pell-mell towards the parapet, screaming their lungs out, and brandishing muskets, pistols, swords, clubs, bows and tomahawks. The Doctor looked at Martha. “I know.” She said, “Run!” Lifting up her skirts, she ran down the parapet alongside the Doctor.

“What’s going on?” A bullet whizzed by the Doctor, and he ducked instinctively, yelling, “Oh, it’s just a guess, mind you, but I do believe we about to witness an 18th century American war. This one has a lot of names: Queen Anne’s War, King William’s War, Seven Years War, French and Indian War…mind you, they could have called it King George’s War, but there’d already been one of those–are you confused, yet?” Martha called back, “What? These creatures just plopped us down in the middle of some battle? That’s nice.” Breathing hard, they reached a square hole in the boardwalk, with a log propped up against it–merely a rough log with notches for steps. Pausing, Martha grabbed the Doctor’s arm. “Wait a minute! If this isn’t real, why are we running?”

The Doctor looked at her with serious concern in his eyes. “We are imagining this, as you say, yes–but the thing is, part of our minds will think this is real–so if we get shot–even if we’re not really getting hit by a bullet–our minds will think we are, and behave accordingly.” Glancing at the approaching army, Martha said, “So if my brain thinks I’ve got an arrow in my chest, it will tell my heart to stop working. Is that what you mean?” Another arrow thunked into the log wall near them. The Doctor helped Martha climb down the ladder. “Yes! Right! Spot on, and all that! Now, move! Allons-y!” He shouted, as he followed her down.

Only to find a musket barrel shoved in his face. “Ah–possibly a poor choice of words.” The Doctor muttered. A man in a green coat, white homespun shirt and breeches and buckskin leggings, with a round green cap with an upturned brim, held Martha fast in his grip. The soldier with the musket was wearing a red coat, with white trim and a buff coloured collar, plaid stockings in white and red and a kilt in blue and green tartan. The dark eyes under his blue bonnet regarded the Doctor suspiciously. “Aye, and ye be a Frenchie spy!” The man said in a thick Scots brogue.

Despite the popping of guns and shouts all around them, the Doctor smiled broadly at his captor. “Are you Scottish then?” he said, in his best Scots accent. He reached up and gently pushed the musket barrel away from his nose. “Erm–ah–take me to your leader?” He asked, hopefully. The soldier responded. He hit the Doctor over the head with the butt of his pistol. Martha screamed, “No! Doctor!” as he silently slumped to the ground.

 

CHAPTER TEN

 

 

 

The Doctor slowly came awake. He cranked open one eye. He was lying on some filthy straw, inside a stone hut of some sort. Dim light filtered through a crack in the wooden ceiling, and he could make out Martha, kneeling beside him. “Doctor? Can you hear me?” She whispered anxiously. “You’re going to be alright. Just take it easy.” He had to smile. Good old Martha. She was going to be a fine doctor, one day. He slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head, knocking his coonskin cap over his eyes. “Ow!” He exclaimed, as his fingers found the lump on the back of his head. He knew he was imagining it, but still, it didn’t help. It felt real enough to him.

He looked up, and saw the kilted soldier standing guard over him. Just in time, he remembered to speak with a Scots accent. “Did, erm–I mean, did you have to do that?” He complained. “Remind me never to ask you for directions–you’d probably shoot me first, and then tell me where to go. But, that’s America for you, I suppose.”

“Get up!” The soldier commanded. He knocked on the hut’s door. There was the sound of a bar being moved, and the door was opened by a green-clad sentry. The Scottish soldier gestured to the door with his musket barrel. “Come on. The colonel wants a word with you, spying scum.” Ducking his head to avoid hitting the low ceiling, the Doctor headed to the door, Martha following. The soldier barred Martha’s way with his musket, causing her to stop short and nearly fall. “Your wench stays here.” He said sarcastically. Martha’s mouth dropped open, but the Doctor interrupted her, his eyes narrowing with anger. “Was that really necessary? He demanded shortly.

The kilted soldier responded by swinging his musket at the Doctor, but this time the Doctor was ready. Quicker than it was imaginable, he swiftly ducked and stepped aside. The musket harmlessly passed through thin air, causing the Scottish soldier to teeter off-balance. The Doctor grabbed the musket. As the soldier regained his stance, to his discomfort, he found himself staring down the business end of his own gun. The Doctor had also backed against the wall, so the sentry couldn’t get at him from behind, making sure Martha was well out of any line of fire.

“Now,” he said with an air of extreme authority. “You will take me to your leader, and be quick about it, soldier. Or you’ll be spending the rest of your tour in the stocks!”

A half hour later, he and Martha were sitting in the officers quarters, drinking tea and chatting with Colonel James, of the famous Blackwatch regiment. “I’m sorry about your treatment, but in these times, we can trust no one, Doctor McCrimmon.” To be on the safe side, the Doctor decided to revert to the first name that sprang to mind–that of one of his former companions, and with some fast talking, managed to convince the colonel that he was really an army doctor. “We’ve been expecting a replacement physicaian for some months now. Pity you’d lost your papers–you could have been shot! It was very resourceful of you to get through enemy lines–with the help of Miss Jones, here.” The gray haired colonel looked at Martha, sitting beside the roaring fire. “You are to be commended for you loyalty and bravery. It could not have been easy for you, the journey here through the wilderness.”

Just then, the door burst open. A panting sentry ran up to the Colonel and saluted. “Beg your pardon Colonel James, but a message has just got through from headquarters, marked urgent.” Excusing himself, the colonel got up and walked over to his desk. Leaning close to the flickering candlelight, he read the note before him gravely.

The Doctor sipped his tea, and Martha leaned over him. “What now?” She whispered. “Are we really here, in 18th century America, or we still back on that planet?” “None of this is real,” he muttered, “It looks, feels and smells real, but it’s not. Problem is, I haven’t figured out quite how to re-focus our minds–the Hanesybyrds have enormous powers–even a Time Lord cannot totally resist their influence.” Martha sighed. “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

They looked up, as the colonel pushed away from his desk and stood facing them, grim of face. “Somehow, I don’t think we’re about to be invited to the regimental ball.” The Doctor whispered. “I just got word from headquarters, Doctor McCrimmon–or whomever you may be. The real physician was captured by the French three weeks ago.” The colonel said stiffly. He called out. “Guards!” Two kilted soldiers came in, armed with muskets, broadswords and pistols. The colonel pointed to the Doctor and Martha. “These are French spies. Take them out and have them shot. Immediately!”

Without hesitation, the Doctor snatched up a long handled Indian tomahawk that was hanging over the fireplace. Resuming his normal voice, he said, “You’d better shift, Martha. I’ve a feeling we’re going to need plenty of room.” The Colonel had already drawn his sword. The two sentries crowded the doorway–but they were experienced enough soldiers to know that firing their weapons in to such a small space was dangerous–they as much risked hitting their commanding officer as hitting the prisoners.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

The colonel raised his broadsword and it swept down towards the Doctor’s head, but the Doctor blocked the thrust with the solid hickory handle of his tomahawk. The blade slid off and the Doctor quickly backed away. The colonel followed him, thrusting with the blade, towards the Doctor’s mid-section. Once again, the Doctor managed to deflect the blow, this time with the iron head of the hatchet. “You fight well, spy. It’s too bad I have to kill you.” The colonel snarled. “Well, nobody’s perfect.” The Doctor panted, as he ducked to avoid another thrust of the blade–but only barely made it. Suddenly, he found himself backed into the far corner of the room, with no room to maneuver.

Grinning with satisfaction, the colonel advanced, in the certainty that he had the upper hand. He was within three feet of the Doctor, blade at the ready, when the Doctor swept off his coonskin cap, flinging it into the colonel’s face. “Here kitty, kitty!” The Doctor called. He used the distraction to leap back into the center of the room.

The colonel’s blade flashed in the firelight, as he thrust and slashed at the Doctor’s head. The Doctor backpedaled, using the head and handle of the tomahawk to deflect each blow. The colonel made a thrust for the Doctor’s shoulder. The Doctor backed up–and tripped over a small wooden barrel, falling to the floor. As he fell, the tomahawk flew from his grasp.

The colonel shouted, “Now die, French scum!” as he prepared to give the fatal blow. Martha snatched up a wrought iron poker from the fireplace. “Here, Doctor!” she yelled, and tossed it to him. Catching it, the Doctor rolled away from the thrust, and sprang to his feet. With a quick movement, he brought the poker down on the colonel’s sword arm, hard enough to fracture the bone, and forcing the colonel to drop his sword.

Quickly snatching it up, the Doctor held the blade to the colonel’s throat. He looked over his shoulder at Martha, with a grin. “Thanks for that, Martha.” Suddenly, the colonel blurred, became one of the Hanesybyrds. And just as quickly, The Doctor and Martha found themselves back in the dismal concrete cell, wearing their normal clothes again.

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

 

Heaving a sigh, Martha sat down on the wooden bench. “No place like home!” She looked at the Doctor, who stood, hands in pockets, staring at a damp spot on the wall. “You know,” he said, “they’ve one heck of a bad case of rising damp in here–they need to get a man in.” He walked over and sat down beside her. Martha looked up at the gray ceiling. “So, Doctor, what do you reckon? How are we going to get back to the Tardis, when we can’t even get out of this dungeon or cellar, or wherever we are?”

The Doctor also sighed. “I wish I knew.” Leaning forward, hands in his lap, he muttered, “I can’t help but feel there’s something I’m forgetting, something I should remember about the species.” He ground his hands together in obvious frustration. Marta looked at him, trying to think of something helpful to say. “You put a mind block on me once–can’t you do that again?” The Doctor shook his head ruefully. “No. In most cases, it’ll only work once. These creatures are highly intelligent–minds like computers.” He shrugged, and added, somewhat vainly, “Not as intelligent as me, perhaps, but..close, very close–and, they can adapt to new situations in a wink of an eye.”

Leaning back against the wall, he continued, “Their brains are also very low-level telepathic. That’s why you found yourself in the nursery, a while back. They sensed the mind block I put on you, and were able to find a way to override it. You see, they use an obscure form of gamma waves to affect the brain functions–the perceptions–of others.” Martha nodded. “So, they use these brain waves on people, and it has the similar effect of a hallucinogen, yeah? Or hypnosis?” The Doctor smiled at Martha. “Right.” She smiled back at him, “That’s nice. It’s not easy being right about something, around you–no offence.” He grinned, “Oh, I dunno’. You’ve done alright, fair play. For a human–no offence.”

Martha shook her head. “I still don’t understand what they want with us. Why they’re going to the trouble, messing with our heads, and all.” Just then, the bright white light flooded the centre of the room again. The Doctor Sighed, “Well, I suppose I could just ask them.” The two Hanesybyrds shimmered into existence. The Doctor strode up to them. “I think it’s time the three of us had a little chat, don’t you? How ‘bout a spot of tea, eh, and we can all sit down and discuss this like civilized adults.” In answer, the Doctor disappeared. Martha sucked in her breath. “Doctor!” She watched warily, as the two odd bird-like creatures eyed her coldly. Then they too, shimmered, and disappeared, leaving Martha alone. “Wait!” She yelled, leaping up from the bench and running to the middle of the room. But it was too late, she was alone again. Sitting back down, she looked at the bland cement floor. “Guess I’m not invited to tea, then.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

The Doctor also found himself alone–but in an all too familiar place. A place he never expected to see again, in all his remaining lifetimes. He closed his eyes, tight, clenching his fists, his face etched with deep-seated emotional pain. Raising his face to the burnt orange sky he screamed, “No! No! I won’t have it! Do you hear me? I won’t! I deny this reality!” But when he opened his eyes, it was still there.

Sinking to his knees, the Doctor simply stared about him in sheer disbelief. The silver trees on the mountainside, shining brightly beneath the twin suns blurred, as tears welled up in his eyes. Looking around, the Doctor fought to keep the bile down, that was rising inside him. Bitterness crept over his features. There was hardness there, so often unseen, but there, nevertheless. Rising, he stood there, hands clenched, gazing silently at the landscape of his home–the home that was blown into dust in the Time War: Galifrey.

He raised his face, bathed in the glow of the suns, and shouted, “I would have helped you, you know. I would have taken you to some other place, in some other time even, where you could have lived peaceably. But now, now the gloves are off. I will stop you. Do you hear me?” He called, “I will put and end to this. No second chances!” He was greeted by silence.

Breathing heavily, he stood there, alone on the sandy hillside, waiting an answer. It came in the form of a bright flash. A small boulder on the slope, just behind him, burst into a million fragments. The Doctor’s eyes widened, filled with fear. Hovering, slowly making its way over a nearby hill was his most dreaded enemy: a Dalek.

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lingering a second longer, the Doctor sucked in his breath, and then ran. Meanwhile, Martha roamed about the dank concrete room, thinking about what the Doctor told her. “Gamma waves,” she said to herself, “what do I know about gamma waves? Anything?”

Martha frowned in concentration. “Okay, gamma waves are produced when masses of neurons emit electrical signals. That much I remember. Most likely to occur during REM sleep–rapid eye movement…” She sighed. “Not much help, knowing that. Let’s see…a theory that there’s a tuning of the wave frequencies in the visual cortex. Erm–what else? Activation of this is thought to be controlled by patterns of muscle contractions…” She stared at the ceiling, “Also thought to be connected with the exercise of free will.”

Martha shook her head. “So where does knowing all this lead me?” She looked around at the empty chamber. “I’ll tell you where it leaves me. Stuck in a dungeon talking to myself, while the Doctor’s out having tea and biscuits with his alien friends.”

Gasping for breath, the Doctor continued to play a cat and mouse game with the Dalek. He’d found a shallow cave, of sorts, underneath a low-hanging cliff, covered by some purple brush and boulders. He knew it wouldn’t be much help if the Dalek found him there, but it at least offered him a moment’s respite. He closed his eyes, massaging his temples. He needed to concentrate, try to refocus his brain patterns–a tricky process, even in the best of conditions, and this wasn’t the best of conditions.

The Doctor’s face relaxed, as he went deep inside himself, in a trance. Just then, a dome-like shadow rose over the entrance of the cave. The Doctor slowly opened his eyes. The look of his features had drastically changed, in the course of a few heartbeats. The Doctor’s face, his eyes, suddenly seemed all-wise and all-powerful, a lonely god, as certain cat nun had once phrased it.

A blue eye-stalk slowly rose over the top of the boulders, followed by the gold domed body, the waving sucker arm and ray gun. The Dalek faced the Doctor for a moment, silently regarding its ultimate enemy, almost with a sense of triumph–if Daleks could gloat, this one certainly seemed to be. “Doc-tor!” It shouted in it’s grating robotic voice, “The Oncoming Storm! Ancient enemy of the Dalek race!” You will be exterminated! Exterminate! Exterminate!” The Doctor looked the Dalek in the eye-stalk–and merely smiled.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

Almost in slow motion, the Dalek’s gun arm pointed at the Doctor’s chest. Still grinning, the Doctor raised an eyebrow and snickered. Without warning, he screamed, “EXTERMINATE!” The Dalek suddenly vanished, as if it had never been. The burnt orange sky, the purple brush, the cave, the silver-leaved trees on the mountainside, all blurred and disappeared.

Martha had found a sharp flake of cement, and was sitting on the bench, scratching out a one-sided game of noughts and crosses on the wall. A movement caught her eye. The Doctor shimmered back into the room, and she gave out an audible sigh of relief. “Well you took your own sweet time. I hope you at least brought me back a few biscuits. I’m starving!” She looked at him reproachfully. “Where’ve you been?”

The Doctor looked at the wall. “Well, while you’ve been playing games, I took a trip back home and had my own little game—with a Dalek. Hide and seek.” He gave a smug little smile. “I won.”

He sat down beside her. She cast him a worried glance. “You went back home?” She knew, from previous experience, how painful that must have been for him. She asked, softly, “Are you alright, Doctor?” For just an instant, she could see the pain and bitterness in the Doctor’s eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

He bounded up and paced in front of her. “Right as rain! Good as Gold! And any other metaphors…” he scratched his ear, “Though how rain can be right or wrong, that’s anybody’s guess…well, except for that time on the moon, perhaps. Still…” He sat down beside Martha again. “Still…the question remains, how are we gong to get back to the Tardis, eh?”

Martha sighed. “I’ve been thinking.” “Hmmm–thought I smelled smoke,” he jibed. She made a face. “Oh yeah, that’s very funny, Doctor. No, really. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about those gamma waves?” The Doctor shrugged. “Oh yeah, gamma waves, right.” Giving her a blank look, he asked. “What about them?” Martha leaned towards him. “They are connected to the electrical impulses in the brain, right?” The Doctor nodded, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but, put simply, that’s essentially correct.”

Martha hesitated, biting her lip. She didn’t want to seem like some stupid human, but if would help? Sighing, she plunged in, “So, what if we could find a way to short circuit those impulses–is that possible at all?”

The Doctor just stared at her, aksance, and Martha thought, “Okay, he’s thinking, ‘dumb human.’ And maybe he’s right. What do I know?” Instead, the Doctor suddenly hugged her, grinning wildly. “Oh, Martha Jones. You are brilliant! For a human,” he added cheekily.

The bright light filled the room again. “I see it is visiting hours again.” Martha said, “Wish they’d send us somewhere nice. You know, like Paris in Spring. Or even somewhere more mundane, like Sainsbury’s. I really am starving.”

The Doctor stood and faced his captors once more. “Look, I’m getting a bit bored with all this cat and mouse stuff. How about we cut to the chase, eh? I’ll give you the Tardis, if you just let the two of us go. Really, no strings attached.” He crossed his heart. “Pyrdonians honour. You take me to the Tardis, I’ll fix the controls so you can operate them–you take the two of us back to earth, you go anywhere you want in time and space. How’s that for a deal? “

In answer, the Doctor and Martha suddenly found themselves outside the Tardis. Or, what Martha prayed was the real Tardis.

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

The air in front of the Tardis shimmered, and the two Hanesybyrds appeared out of nowhere. Martha nudged the Doctor. “How can we be sure this is the real Tardis?” He looked at the familiar blue police box that was, for all intents and purposes, his home, and smiled faintly. “Oh, I know. Trust me. I can feel it. She’s real, alright.”

The creatures stood, side by side, in front of the Tardis doors. The one on the right, pointed towards the doors, indicating that the Doctor should enter. He pulled out his key and, unlocking the door, stepped inside. Martha made to follow, but found her way barred by the other alien. “Doctor?” She called out, anxiously.

The Doctor frowned. “Making sure, I’m not planning on running off, are you?” He called out to them, “Well, just be certain Martha stays unharmed, or no deal. I’ll destroy the Tardis if you do–and I’ll take the two of you with me.” He proceeded to check some readings on his computer screen. “Well that told them.” He muttered. Taking out his glasses, he slipped them on and punched buttons on the console, making complex calculations.

Martha looked around her. The planet’s surface was barren and rocky. It reminded her of all those planets she’d seen, on some old sci-fi series on tele, as a child. It looked a lot like an old quarry she once played in as a child, while on holiday with her family. There wasn’t a single plant to be seen: just rocks and mud and more rocks. Sheer cliffs rising above a bleak gray sky, a watery, mist covered sun, shining in the far distance. The temperature was quite cool, and Martha told herself that she really should get herself a proper coat, if she was going to continue traveling with the Doctor. If…she looked at her strange captors. “Nice planet,” she said lamely, rubbing her arms.

The Doctor’s hands rapidly flew over the console. He dashed about to the decking, slipped off a hatch cover, and dove underneath. Grabbing the end of a cable from the bottom of the console deck, he popped up again. He lay flat on his back, attaching the cable to the underside of the Tardis’ control panel. “I hope this work’s.” He muttered under his breath. “Or else…” His voice trailed off. Standing, he shrugged. “Well, old girl,” he said to his beloved machine, “Here goes nothing. Or Something. We hope.” Giving the console and affectionate pat, he strode out the doors.

Martha breathed a small sigh of relief when the Doctor poked his head out of the Tardis door. He frowned at the two aliens and said soberly. “Alright, I’ve done it. I’ve changed the settings so you will be able to operate the controls. Now bring Martha and let’s get this over with, eh? I’ve not got all day.” With that, he closed the door and stood near the console.

The two Hanesybyrds entered the Tardis, but the one with Martha stopped just outside the door. The one inside, gestured for the Doctor to come closer. Placing his hands in his pockets he strolled over, saying, “Come on, fair’s fair. What are you waiting for? I promise, I’m not going to make any false moves while you have my friend, there.” He removed his glasses and placed them in his pocket. “Come on,” he smiled, “don’t tell me your friend there gets Tardis sick? Fear of flying? Gets Tardis lag? What’s keeping him, eh?” In response, the creature inside the Tardis abruptly shoved the doctor out the door, causing him to fall to his knees.

The second creature stepped inside and the Tardis door closed with a fatalistic bang. Martha ran over to the Doctor and helped him up. She heard him curse in some strange language. “Did you just swear in Welsh?” She asked. Spitting dirt out of his mouth and wiping off his knees, the Doctor replied, “Oh, sorry. Pardon my language. No, that was old low Galifreyan.”

Just then, the familiar sound of ancient engines began to fill the air. The Tardis was getting ready to dematerialize!

Martha gripped the Doctor’s arm. “They’re leaving without us? Here? We’re stuck here, without any food, or water? I thought we were going with them!” The Doctor didn’t answer. He just stood there in stony silence, as the Tardis slowly began to disappear.

Then–it stopped. It began to reverse itself, finally becoming solid again. The Doctor looked at Martha and smiled grimly. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” She waited impatiently, as he entered the Tardis. A moment later, he beckoned her inside. “Come on, coast is clear. Nobody home but us chickens.”

Martha stepped into the control room–and nearly stumbled over the two Hanesybyrds, lying prone on the floor. She looked at the Doctor and said quietly, reproachfully, “You’ve killed them?” The Doctor seemed a bit put out at the suggestion. “Why ever would I do that?” He shook his head. “No, for the moment, they’re just sleeping.” Martha looked at her Time Lord friend, curiously. “So, what did you do? And what are we going to do with them, when they wake up? Won’t they just start playing their little mind games with us again?”

The Doctor shook his head, then stooped down and began dragging one of the creatures by its feet, out of the Tardis door. “My God, they’re heavy! Good thing I’m not human, I’d get a hernia dragging these things around.” He disposed of one and began doing the same to the other. “And, a bad back.” he added, grunting. Coming back inside, he shut the Tardis door and stood beside Martha.

“What I did, was use the Tardis to change their gamma wave patterns. You see, until you mentioned it, about the brain waves, I’d completely forgotten that the gamma waves in the Hanesybyrds’ brains, operate on a specific frequency–in this case, 120 hertz–more than triple a human’s. All I did was use the Tardis to lower the frequency to 15 hertz.” Martha was trying to follow, but now he’d lost her. “Wouldn’t that kill them?” The Doctor tilted his head. “You’d think it would, wouldn’t you, or at least send them into a permanent coma.”

“But you didn’t?” Martha asked, hopefully. The Doctor smiled warmly at her. “No, not at all. All it did was lower their mental capacity. They will still be able to perform basic functions, they just won’t ever again be able to manipulate the free will of others.” Martha returned the smile. “I’m glad to hear that–even tho’ they tried to kill us, I wouldn’t want them killed. That would have been rather pointless, I think.” The Doctor nodded, pleased. “Oh yes, I quite agree.” Martha asked, “But why did they go to all this trouble in the first place?” The Doctor shrugged. “I dunno’, they never did say. Revenge? Boredom? No idea.”

So saying, he bounded over to the control panel and set the Tardis in motion once more. As the central column began to rise and fall, he draped his arm around Martha, saying, “So where do you want to go for lunch? I know this great kebab house on the planet Gelgfarb…”