FIC: How Martha Jones Saved the World...
Jun. 25th, 2007 06:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizbeeTitle: How Martha Jones Saved the World and Lucy Saxon Initiated Divorce Proceedings With Extreme Prejudice (1/?)
Rated: PG-13
Characters: Martha, various and assorted ex-companions, UNIT, a couple of originals, the Master, the kitchen sink... Look, the alternative title was, "Fanwank: The musical!"
Spoilers: "Human Nature", "The Family of Blood", "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums", spec for "Last of the Time Lords", although if you believe me on this one ... you can't have my tin hat, that's all I'm saying. Oh, and tech swiped from "The Invasion".
Notes: I R SRS FAN. THIS R SRS FIC.
Martha looked out over the world and considered her resources. Headaches: one. Stomach: churning. Family: in the hands of a power-crazed alien. Friends and allies: likewise. Alien balls floating over the world killing people: more than she could count.
"Are you mad?"
Man in uniform grabbing her by the arms and pulling her into a run: present, correct and shouting.
"In case you hadn't noticed, we've got a code red alien invasion, and you're standing around watching? You might as well wear a big target." He was pulling her towards the road. A truck was half-concealed behind some trees.
"Who are you?" Martha demanded.
"UNIT," he said shortly. "We had orders from the Valiant to find you."
Martha froze. "Saxon's got the Valiant."
"Yeah," said soldier-boy patiently, "But it's still a UNIT ship. And you're the Doctor's companion, which means we have standing orders to protect you. Come on."
So she kept running, and followed him into the back of the truck, catching her breath while he ordered the man in front to drive. He had a canteen of water, from which she drank gratefully, and when she could speak again she said, "Thanks."
"No worries. My name's Benton, by the way. Jack Benton. Captain Jack Benton." He held out a calloused hand, and she shook it.
"Another Captain Jack," she said with a smile, "confusing."
"Oh yeah, that's Torchwood Jack's wristband, isn't it? We've been wanting to get a good look at that for years."
"It's a vortex manipulator," said Martha. "Apparently. Sorry, but who are you again? I know you said UNIT, but I thought that was like a secret service sort of thing. I mean, until a few hours ago, I didn't even believe it existed. And you've probably noticed, but I'm public enemy number ... well, I'm in the top three. So if this is an arrest, I'd like to know now, so I can make a quick escape and save the world."
Benton waited until she'd stopped talking before he started laughing.
"Relax," he said. "This isn't an arrest."
"Good."
"We don't work for Saxon."
Martha raised her eyebrows. "You sure?" she said.
"I didn't even vote for him."
"How'd you manage that?"
He turned awkwardly, to show her a thin thread of metal on the back of his neck. "Called a neuristic," he said. "Useful for blocking those nasty hypnotic messages. We couldn't do anything about Archangel directly, but at least our own people were free."
"Nice," said Martha. "How does it work?"
"No idea," said Benton cheerfully. "Old, though, been around since the sixties. My dad could tell you stories -- well." A shadow crossed his face. "He's retired, now, and they weren't issued to veterans. Mum and Dad voted Saxon. Haven't heard from them since--" He waved vaguely at the sky.
Martha reached out and squeezed his arm. "My family's on the Valiant," she said.
"You win."
"No." She shook her head and pulled her knees up to her chest. "It's not much of a competition."
They rode along in silence for twenty minutes or so. Sometimes they heard screams and the whir of electronics and knives, but they didn't stop. Benton's jaw clenched, and he reached for his gun twice, but he didn't draw his weapon, and they didn't engage the enemy.
"Where are we going?" asked Martha.
"Back to base," said Benton. "There are some people who'll be wanting to meet you."
*
The base was a dilapitated old manor house in Sussex, full of soldiers and specialists. Benton led Martha through to what had once been the dining room, now a base of operations. He stopped at the side of a woman, middle-aged despite her dark hair and defiantly dressed in non-military turquoise.
"Miss Smith," he said, "this is Martha Jones."
Miss Smith didn't look up from her laptop, she merely kept typing, frowning to herself. Martha took a deep breath and wondered if maybe she'd have been better off staying on her own. But then Smith looked up, took her glasses off and stood to greet her.
"Martha," she said, "I'm so very pleased to meet you. I'm Sarah, Sarah Jane Smith. Journalist, usually, although I've kindly agreed to lend my services to UNIT--"
Benton coughed. "All due respect, Miss Smith, but we would have taken you into custody if you hadn't been agreeable."
"Isn't the military mind a delightful thing? An old friend of mine used to say ... but that's irrelevant right now." She took Martha's hands in hers and said, very seriously, "the Doctor. Is he all right?"
Martha's knees buckled, and Sarah helped her into a chair.
"No," she said. "The Master has him, and Jack, and my family ... and I ran. Oh God, I ran." Her fists clenched, and she remembered that she was still holding Jack's vortex manipulator. Could she go back? No, that would be suicide. As it was, she was free, and the Master knew it, and if that distracted him, even just a little, it was worth it.
Sarah sat beside her and said to Benton, "A cup of tea, I think, Captain. Martha," she said gently, "it's not over. I've seen the Doctor get out of the narrowest scrapes you can imagine, and I'm absolutely sure we'll board the Valiant to find him drinking tea and making jokes and wondering why we're all so upset."
"Sounds good," said Martha, "but for a journalist, you're a rotten liar."
Sarah managed a smile. "I need to keep believing, Martha. We have work to do, and this isn't the time to give up." She rose to her feet as Benton returned with a tray of cups. "Is everything ready, Captain?"
"It's all set up for you, Miss Smith."
"Good. Come with me, Martha. You too, Captain. I think it's time to start shedding some light on things."
She swept past them, head held high, clutching her cup and saucer. Martha and Benton exchanged wry looks, picked up their own cups, and followed.
*
Sarah led them into a sitting room. The faded sofas and armchairs were already occupied by a mixture of officers and middle-aged civilians. Something about the gathering struck Martha as being odd, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Well, there was a teenaged boy sitting in a corner, but Sarah introduced him as her son, Luke, so that was okay.
It struck her as she was being introduced -- the civilians were women. Or mostly women. From a grey-haired professor of physics to a faded blonde whom Benton greeted as Aunt Jo, to a slightly plump Australian woman who looked like she wanted to be somewhere else -- all women.
"This is Martha Jones," Sarah would introduce her. "She's traveling with the Doctor."
And they all nodded in recognition and shook her hand. "Better you than me," said the Australian, and Sarah hushed her and Professor Shaw laughed. It was like being introduced to one's great-aunt, if one could suddenly discover a whole room of great-aunts, most of whom were highly respected professionals or, in the case of one thirty-something woman with a vortex manipulator of her own, worryingly proficient with explosives.
Suddenly the lingering spectre of Rose Tyler seemed a lot more distant. Or maybe she was just lost in the crowd.
"Well," said the severe-looking woman who had been introduced as Brigadier-General Bambera, "now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries, perhaps we could get down to business."
"Yes," said Sarah. "Business." She guided Martha to the last empty armchair, then took her place in the centre of the room. "As most of you know, I've been tracking Harold Saxon since ... well, since the moment he appeared in the public eye." She smiled weakly. "Thought he might have been working for the Sycorax, or the Slitheen in some way, although ... well. I was collaborating with Vivian Rook, who disappeared yesterday. Our notes," she waved a thick folder, "are in here.
"It was Jo," she continued, "who gave us our first hint as to Saxon's real identity."
"Hint?" called Jo. "I said it was him. I wrote a report! And sent it off in triplicate."
"How'd you know?" Tegan asked.
"I met him on the campaign trail," Jo said. "He was terribly charming, but once you've been hypnotised, kidnapped, nearly sacrificed ... well, you just don't forget that man. Whatever he looks like."
"Anyway," said Sarah, "UNIT was made aware of the situation, and I ... well, I usually find out what UNIT's doing." She gave Bambera an impish smile, which Bambera entirely failed to return. "So we were somewhat prepared, but not for this. And I'm hoping that Martha will be able to fill in some of the gaps in our current knowledge."
It didn't take long, in the end, to tell the story of how her life had fallen apart. From Cardiff to the most wanted list in less than forty-eight hours. Her audience listened in silence, for the most part. Ace made her repeat the conversation between the Doctor and Jack, about opening the TARDIS and looking into the vortex. The soldiers looked faintly dismayed at the news that Jack Harkness couldn't die -- except Bambera, who merely nodded as if she had just had a theory confirmed.
When she got to the end, Bambera said, "McShane. What's a paradox machine?"
"Does exactly what it says on the tin," said Ace. "Need to manipulate time and space in the crudest way possible? Build a paradox machine. Don't know about the science, though. They make a big bang when they go wrong, and they almost always go wrong."
"The Toclafane must have come from somewhere," said Shaw thoughtfully. "Brigadier-General, would it be possible--?"
"If we're able to get a sample, it will be brought straight to you," said Bambera.
"The Master told the Doctor," said Martha slowly, "that if he knew what the Toclafane were, his hearts would break."
The meeting broke up in a grim, sad silence. Bambera issued orders to her staff and suggestions to the civilians, but all she said to Martha was, "Get some rest, Jones. You look like you need it."
Martha stood up. "I want to help," she said. "Please, I can't rest now. I'm not going to sleep while people are dying."
Bambera gave her a look of approval, but merely said, "Rest now. Work later. We'll need medics soon enough."
She walked away, leaving Martha alone with Sarah.
"I could show you to a spare room," said Sarah, "but I could use your help for one more thing first, if you can spare the energy."
"I can spare it," said Martha. "I'm fine. What do you need?"
"I have a theory," said Sarah, sitting down and pulling her files towards herself. "And I need you to confirm a few things. Or, possibly, to tell me I'm a crazy old woman with a head full of crackpot theories. You'd hardly be the first."
"You seem sane enough. Of course, I've spent the last few days with Time Lords and immortals, so..."
"Right. Yes. Well." Sarah opened a folder and withdrew a worn leather notebook. Martha's breath caught in her throat, and Sarah looked at her sharply. "You do recognise it, then. I hoped -- I thought you would."
Martha picked up the journal, reverently tracing the cover and the old-fashioned writing inside.
"He became human, didn't he?" Sarah said.
"For a while," said Martha. She hadn't had a chance to look at it properly before, but now she felt like a voyeur. She used to read Tish's diary, too... She turned the pages quickly, pausing at a sketch of a much-younger Sarah.
Monsters and machines ... Rose and Joan.
"I found it in an antique store," said Sarah. "Only cost 50p. I thought it might be after your time, because you're not in it, but there was no one after Rose but Joan--"
"I was just the maid," said Martha. "Maid and master. God, what a joke."
Sarah turned back to the sketch of the pocket-watch. "I told you I had a theory," she said. "I've had it since I found this book, and since you told us about Professor Yana ... well." She rifled through her papers and found another folder. "You met Lucy Saxon as well."
"Yeah. Talk about a crazy bitch. I guess you'd have to be to be married to the Master, but there was something ... something really wrong about her." She managed to laugh. "And that's my official diagnosis, too. Something really wrong. And I'll have you know I got top marks in the mental health subjects." She laughed again. Maybe she did need to rest.
"There's a lot that's wrong with Lucy Saxon," said Sarah. "Look at this." She pushed a piece of paper towards Martha. "That's printed from microfiche," she added. "It's what we had before the internet. I mention this because you're very young, and maybe don't remember a time before mobile phones were a favourite medium for mind control."
Martha opened her eyes very wide and blinked. "Did they use iPods, then?" she asked.
Sarah stared at her for a second, then laughed.
"Read," she said. "Just read."
Martha read. She read the article twice, then looked up at Sarah.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said.
"I know. It seems improbable."
"It's sick," said Martha. "He's using her, and she's -- is it a joke to him?"
"Maybe."
"Who is she? Really?"
"I don't know," Sarah admitted. "I didn't exactly get a chance to meet and greet a lot of Time Lords."
"He never took you to Gallifrey?"
Sarah looked away. "No," she said.
Martha read the article again. Then, without permission, she reached for the rest of Sarah's file. Adoption papers. School reports. University results, recommendations from employers, a marriage certificate...
"I'm going to stop him," she said. "It's like a joke to him, all our lives and -- everything. He thinks we're puppets." She stared at the papers in front of her, Lucy Saxon's life reduced to essentials. "I'm going to kill him," she said.
"Martha--"
"Whatever the cost," she said, "I'm going to kill the Master."
*
Child Found In Accident Wreckage
An eight-year-old girl is the only survivor of a horrific motor accident on the outskirts of Tarminster today. Emergency services found the girl sitting unharmed in the wreckage of her car, clutching her father's pocket-watch in her hands.
Doctors say the child is in perfect health, but has no memory of the accident or her parents.
"This is a common reaction to trauma," Doctor Tobias Browne said today. "We hope the girl -- the nurses are calling her Lucy -- will recover quickly. What she needs now is her family -- aunts or uncles, grandparents. If someone could come forward, to take her home and look after her, I've no doubt she would come to herself."
Lord Cole of Tarminster has decried the delay in locating her family. "That child needs to be in at home," he says, "with her loved ones. Not in a home, surrounded by strangers."
Despite extensive enquiries, authorities have yet to locate the girl's family. Anyone believing they have information should contact the Tarminster police immediately.
"She needs time," said Doctor Browne. "But time alone won't solve the problem of her identity."
to be continued
Rated: PG-13
Characters: Martha, various and assorted ex-companions, UNIT, a couple of originals, the Master, the kitchen sink... Look, the alternative title was, "Fanwank: The musical!"
Spoilers: "Human Nature", "The Family of Blood", "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums", spec for "Last of the Time Lords", although if you believe me on this one ... you can't have my tin hat, that's all I'm saying. Oh, and tech swiped from "The Invasion".
Notes: I R SRS FAN. THIS R SRS FIC.
How Martha Jones Saved the World and Lucy Saxon Initiated Divorce Proceedings With Extreme Prejudice
by LizBee
One
by LizBee
One
Martha looked out over the world and considered her resources. Headaches: one. Stomach: churning. Family: in the hands of a power-crazed alien. Friends and allies: likewise. Alien balls floating over the world killing people: more than she could count.
"Are you mad?"
Man in uniform grabbing her by the arms and pulling her into a run: present, correct and shouting.
"In case you hadn't noticed, we've got a code red alien invasion, and you're standing around watching? You might as well wear a big target." He was pulling her towards the road. A truck was half-concealed behind some trees.
"Who are you?" Martha demanded.
"UNIT," he said shortly. "We had orders from the Valiant to find you."
Martha froze. "Saxon's got the Valiant."
"Yeah," said soldier-boy patiently, "But it's still a UNIT ship. And you're the Doctor's companion, which means we have standing orders to protect you. Come on."
So she kept running, and followed him into the back of the truck, catching her breath while he ordered the man in front to drive. He had a canteen of water, from which she drank gratefully, and when she could speak again she said, "Thanks."
"No worries. My name's Benton, by the way. Jack Benton. Captain Jack Benton." He held out a calloused hand, and she shook it.
"Another Captain Jack," she said with a smile, "confusing."
"Oh yeah, that's Torchwood Jack's wristband, isn't it? We've been wanting to get a good look at that for years."
"It's a vortex manipulator," said Martha. "Apparently. Sorry, but who are you again? I know you said UNIT, but I thought that was like a secret service sort of thing. I mean, until a few hours ago, I didn't even believe it existed. And you've probably noticed, but I'm public enemy number ... well, I'm in the top three. So if this is an arrest, I'd like to know now, so I can make a quick escape and save the world."
Benton waited until she'd stopped talking before he started laughing.
"Relax," he said. "This isn't an arrest."
"Good."
"We don't work for Saxon."
Martha raised her eyebrows. "You sure?" she said.
"I didn't even vote for him."
"How'd you manage that?"
He turned awkwardly, to show her a thin thread of metal on the back of his neck. "Called a neuristic," he said. "Useful for blocking those nasty hypnotic messages. We couldn't do anything about Archangel directly, but at least our own people were free."
"Nice," said Martha. "How does it work?"
"No idea," said Benton cheerfully. "Old, though, been around since the sixties. My dad could tell you stories -- well." A shadow crossed his face. "He's retired, now, and they weren't issued to veterans. Mum and Dad voted Saxon. Haven't heard from them since--" He waved vaguely at the sky.
Martha reached out and squeezed his arm. "My family's on the Valiant," she said.
"You win."
"No." She shook her head and pulled her knees up to her chest. "It's not much of a competition."
They rode along in silence for twenty minutes or so. Sometimes they heard screams and the whir of electronics and knives, but they didn't stop. Benton's jaw clenched, and he reached for his gun twice, but he didn't draw his weapon, and they didn't engage the enemy.
"Where are we going?" asked Martha.
"Back to base," said Benton. "There are some people who'll be wanting to meet you."
*
The base was a dilapitated old manor house in Sussex, full of soldiers and specialists. Benton led Martha through to what had once been the dining room, now a base of operations. He stopped at the side of a woman, middle-aged despite her dark hair and defiantly dressed in non-military turquoise.
"Miss Smith," he said, "this is Martha Jones."
Miss Smith didn't look up from her laptop, she merely kept typing, frowning to herself. Martha took a deep breath and wondered if maybe she'd have been better off staying on her own. But then Smith looked up, took her glasses off and stood to greet her.
"Martha," she said, "I'm so very pleased to meet you. I'm Sarah, Sarah Jane Smith. Journalist, usually, although I've kindly agreed to lend my services to UNIT--"
Benton coughed. "All due respect, Miss Smith, but we would have taken you into custody if you hadn't been agreeable."
"Isn't the military mind a delightful thing? An old friend of mine used to say ... but that's irrelevant right now." She took Martha's hands in hers and said, very seriously, "the Doctor. Is he all right?"
Martha's knees buckled, and Sarah helped her into a chair.
"No," she said. "The Master has him, and Jack, and my family ... and I ran. Oh God, I ran." Her fists clenched, and she remembered that she was still holding Jack's vortex manipulator. Could she go back? No, that would be suicide. As it was, she was free, and the Master knew it, and if that distracted him, even just a little, it was worth it.
Sarah sat beside her and said to Benton, "A cup of tea, I think, Captain. Martha," she said gently, "it's not over. I've seen the Doctor get out of the narrowest scrapes you can imagine, and I'm absolutely sure we'll board the Valiant to find him drinking tea and making jokes and wondering why we're all so upset."
"Sounds good," said Martha, "but for a journalist, you're a rotten liar."
Sarah managed a smile. "I need to keep believing, Martha. We have work to do, and this isn't the time to give up." She rose to her feet as Benton returned with a tray of cups. "Is everything ready, Captain?"
"It's all set up for you, Miss Smith."
"Good. Come with me, Martha. You too, Captain. I think it's time to start shedding some light on things."
She swept past them, head held high, clutching her cup and saucer. Martha and Benton exchanged wry looks, picked up their own cups, and followed.
*
Sarah led them into a sitting room. The faded sofas and armchairs were already occupied by a mixture of officers and middle-aged civilians. Something about the gathering struck Martha as being odd, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Well, there was a teenaged boy sitting in a corner, but Sarah introduced him as her son, Luke, so that was okay.
It struck her as she was being introduced -- the civilians were women. Or mostly women. From a grey-haired professor of physics to a faded blonde whom Benton greeted as Aunt Jo, to a slightly plump Australian woman who looked like she wanted to be somewhere else -- all women.
"This is Martha Jones," Sarah would introduce her. "She's traveling with the Doctor."
And they all nodded in recognition and shook her hand. "Better you than me," said the Australian, and Sarah hushed her and Professor Shaw laughed. It was like being introduced to one's great-aunt, if one could suddenly discover a whole room of great-aunts, most of whom were highly respected professionals or, in the case of one thirty-something woman with a vortex manipulator of her own, worryingly proficient with explosives.
Suddenly the lingering spectre of Rose Tyler seemed a lot more distant. Or maybe she was just lost in the crowd.
"Well," said the severe-looking woman who had been introduced as Brigadier-General Bambera, "now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries, perhaps we could get down to business."
"Yes," said Sarah. "Business." She guided Martha to the last empty armchair, then took her place in the centre of the room. "As most of you know, I've been tracking Harold Saxon since ... well, since the moment he appeared in the public eye." She smiled weakly. "Thought he might have been working for the Sycorax, or the Slitheen in some way, although ... well. I was collaborating with Vivian Rook, who disappeared yesterday. Our notes," she waved a thick folder, "are in here.
"It was Jo," she continued, "who gave us our first hint as to Saxon's real identity."
"Hint?" called Jo. "I said it was him. I wrote a report! And sent it off in triplicate."
"How'd you know?" Tegan asked.
"I met him on the campaign trail," Jo said. "He was terribly charming, but once you've been hypnotised, kidnapped, nearly sacrificed ... well, you just don't forget that man. Whatever he looks like."
"Anyway," said Sarah, "UNIT was made aware of the situation, and I ... well, I usually find out what UNIT's doing." She gave Bambera an impish smile, which Bambera entirely failed to return. "So we were somewhat prepared, but not for this. And I'm hoping that Martha will be able to fill in some of the gaps in our current knowledge."
It didn't take long, in the end, to tell the story of how her life had fallen apart. From Cardiff to the most wanted list in less than forty-eight hours. Her audience listened in silence, for the most part. Ace made her repeat the conversation between the Doctor and Jack, about opening the TARDIS and looking into the vortex. The soldiers looked faintly dismayed at the news that Jack Harkness couldn't die -- except Bambera, who merely nodded as if she had just had a theory confirmed.
When she got to the end, Bambera said, "McShane. What's a paradox machine?"
"Does exactly what it says on the tin," said Ace. "Need to manipulate time and space in the crudest way possible? Build a paradox machine. Don't know about the science, though. They make a big bang when they go wrong, and they almost always go wrong."
"The Toclafane must have come from somewhere," said Shaw thoughtfully. "Brigadier-General, would it be possible--?"
"If we're able to get a sample, it will be brought straight to you," said Bambera.
"The Master told the Doctor," said Martha slowly, "that if he knew what the Toclafane were, his hearts would break."
The meeting broke up in a grim, sad silence. Bambera issued orders to her staff and suggestions to the civilians, but all she said to Martha was, "Get some rest, Jones. You look like you need it."
Martha stood up. "I want to help," she said. "Please, I can't rest now. I'm not going to sleep while people are dying."
Bambera gave her a look of approval, but merely said, "Rest now. Work later. We'll need medics soon enough."
She walked away, leaving Martha alone with Sarah.
"I could show you to a spare room," said Sarah, "but I could use your help for one more thing first, if you can spare the energy."
"I can spare it," said Martha. "I'm fine. What do you need?"
"I have a theory," said Sarah, sitting down and pulling her files towards herself. "And I need you to confirm a few things. Or, possibly, to tell me I'm a crazy old woman with a head full of crackpot theories. You'd hardly be the first."
"You seem sane enough. Of course, I've spent the last few days with Time Lords and immortals, so..."
"Right. Yes. Well." Sarah opened a folder and withdrew a worn leather notebook. Martha's breath caught in her throat, and Sarah looked at her sharply. "You do recognise it, then. I hoped -- I thought you would."
Martha picked up the journal, reverently tracing the cover and the old-fashioned writing inside.
"He became human, didn't he?" Sarah said.
"For a while," said Martha. She hadn't had a chance to look at it properly before, but now she felt like a voyeur. She used to read Tish's diary, too... She turned the pages quickly, pausing at a sketch of a much-younger Sarah.
Monsters and machines ... Rose and Joan.
"I found it in an antique store," said Sarah. "Only cost 50p. I thought it might be after your time, because you're not in it, but there was no one after Rose but Joan--"
"I was just the maid," said Martha. "Maid and master. God, what a joke."
Sarah turned back to the sketch of the pocket-watch. "I told you I had a theory," she said. "I've had it since I found this book, and since you told us about Professor Yana ... well." She rifled through her papers and found another folder. "You met Lucy Saxon as well."
"Yeah. Talk about a crazy bitch. I guess you'd have to be to be married to the Master, but there was something ... something really wrong about her." She managed to laugh. "And that's my official diagnosis, too. Something really wrong. And I'll have you know I got top marks in the mental health subjects." She laughed again. Maybe she did need to rest.
"There's a lot that's wrong with Lucy Saxon," said Sarah. "Look at this." She pushed a piece of paper towards Martha. "That's printed from microfiche," she added. "It's what we had before the internet. I mention this because you're very young, and maybe don't remember a time before mobile phones were a favourite medium for mind control."
Martha opened her eyes very wide and blinked. "Did they use iPods, then?" she asked.
Sarah stared at her for a second, then laughed.
"Read," she said. "Just read."
Martha read. She read the article twice, then looked up at Sarah.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said.
"I know. It seems improbable."
"It's sick," said Martha. "He's using her, and she's -- is it a joke to him?"
"Maybe."
"Who is she? Really?"
"I don't know," Sarah admitted. "I didn't exactly get a chance to meet and greet a lot of Time Lords."
"He never took you to Gallifrey?"
Sarah looked away. "No," she said.
Martha read the article again. Then, without permission, she reached for the rest of Sarah's file. Adoption papers. School reports. University results, recommendations from employers, a marriage certificate...
"I'm going to stop him," she said. "It's like a joke to him, all our lives and -- everything. He thinks we're puppets." She stared at the papers in front of her, Lucy Saxon's life reduced to essentials. "I'm going to kill him," she said.
"Martha--"
"Whatever the cost," she said, "I'm going to kill the Master."
*
Child Found In Accident Wreckage
An eight-year-old girl is the only survivor of a horrific motor accident on the outskirts of Tarminster today. Emergency services found the girl sitting unharmed in the wreckage of her car, clutching her father's pocket-watch in her hands.
Doctors say the child is in perfect health, but has no memory of the accident or her parents.
"This is a common reaction to trauma," Doctor Tobias Browne said today. "We hope the girl -- the nurses are calling her Lucy -- will recover quickly. What she needs now is her family -- aunts or uncles, grandparents. If someone could come forward, to take her home and look after her, I've no doubt she would come to herself."
Lord Cole of Tarminster has decried the delay in locating her family. "That child needs to be in at home," he says, "with her loved ones. Not in a home, surrounded by strangers."
Despite extensive enquiries, authorities have yet to locate the girl's family. Anyone believing they have information should contact the Tarminster police immediately.
"She needs time," said Doctor Browne. "But time alone won't solve the problem of her identity."
to be continued
